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UOOSE 


THE 

GAMMANS  POETRY 

COLLECTION 


In  Memory  of 

GEORGE  H.  GAMMANS,  II 

Class  of  1940 

First  Lieutenant  Army  Air  Corps 

Distinguished  Service  Cross 

Missing  in  Action  January  15, 1943 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 
NORTH  CAROLINA  LIBRARY 


UNIVERSITY 


OF  N.C.  AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


1111 

00022229955 


This  BOOK  may  be  kept  out  TWO  WEEKS 
ONLY,  and  is  subject  to  a  fine  of  FIVE 
CENTS  a  day  thereafter.  It  is  DUE  on  the 
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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://archive.org/details/mothergooseforgrwhit 


Phristmas  Heading, 


1  w 


MOTHER  GOOSE 


FOR 


GROWN  FOLKS 


BY 


MRS.  A.  D.  T.  WHITNEY 

Author  of  "Faith  Gartners  Girlhood?  etc. 


NEW,  REVISED,  AND    ENLARGED    EDITION 

ILLUSTRATED 

BY  AUGUSTUS  HOPPIN 


BOSTON 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 

New  York:    11    East  Seventeenth  Street 

1883 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1870,  by 

A    K.  LORING, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 

Copyright,  1882, 
By  HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge  : 
Uectrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  a  Houghton  &  Go. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Introductory 1 

Brahmic 6 

Little  Boy  Blue 9 

Hiccory,  Diccory,  Dock  .        .  .        .        .13 

Bo-Peep 18 

Solomon  Grundy -  .        .21 

Bowls 23 

Cradled  in  Green 27 

1  SlMILIA    SlMILIBUS  " 30 

Hobby-Horses 34 

Missions 36 

Going  Back  to  our  Muttons 40 

Going  to  Dover 44 

Rags  and  Robes 47 

Blackbirds 52 

Banbury  Cross 57 

Attic  Salt 62 

The  Big  Shoe 65 

Victuals  and  Drink 70 

Cobwebs  and  Brooms 76 

Black  Spiders 79 


IV  CONTENTS. 

Daffy-Down-Dillt 81 

Baa,  Baa,  Black  Sheep 84 

The  Twister 86 

Fantasy 88 

Jingling  and  Jangltng 92 

The  Old  Woman  of  Surrey 97 

Pickle  Peppers 100 

humpty  dumpty 102 

Sunday  and  Monday 106 

The  Mad  Horse 109 

Roses  and  Diamonds 114 

Jack  Horner 115 

Inty,  Minty 121 

Doubles  and  Bubbles 124 

Funeral  Holiday 127 

Disrobed 131 

Jack  and  Jill 135 

Casus  Belli 138 

The  Days  that  are  Long        ......  140 

Threescore  and  Ten 142 

Two  Little  Blackbirds 144 

Taffy 148 

Margery  Daw 150 

Troubled  with  Rats 153 

Little  Robin  Redbreast 156 

Wheelbarrow  Broke 160 

The  Footpath  Way 165 

Up  a  Tree 170 

The  Crooked  Man     .        .        •        .        .        .        .        .173 

The  Four  Winds  * 177 

The  Piper  and  the  Cow 180 


CONTENTS.  V 

Behind  the  Log         ........  184 

Shoe  and  Fiddle 185 

Swing,  Swong 188 

Shuttlecock 190 

The  Man  in  the  Wilderness 191 

Prae  and  Post 193 

Quite  Contrary 196 

Along,  Long,  Long 199 

Pinis  .  201 

Conclusion        .  202 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 

— ♦— 

PAGE 

Black  Spiders Frontispiece 

Cradled  in  Green 27 

Banbury  Cross 57 

Fantasy ....    88 

Jack  Horner  .        .        .        ...        .        .        .115 

Up  a  Tree 170 

Behind  the  Log 184 


INTRODUCTORY. 


Somewhere  in  that  uncertain  "  long  ago/' 
Whose  dim  and  vague  chronology  is  all 

That  elfin  tales  or  nursery  fables  know, 

Rose  a  rare  spirit,  —  keen,  and  quick,  and 
quaint,  — 

Whom  by  the  title,  whether  fact  or  feint, 
Mythic  or  real,  Mother  Goose  we  call. 

Of  Momus  and  Minerva  sprang  the  birth 
That  gave  the  laughing  oracle  to  earth : 


Z  INTRODUCTORY. 

A  brimming  bowl  she  bears,  that,  frothing 
high 
With  sparkling  nonsense,  seemeth  non- 
sense all; 
Till,  the  bright,  floating  syllabub  blown  by, 
Lo,  in  its  ruby  splendor  doth  upshine 
The  crimson  radiance  of  Olympian  wine 
By  Pallas  poured,  in  Jove's  own  banquet- 
hall. 

The  world  was  but  a  baby  when  she  came ; 
So  to  her  songs  it  listened,  and  her  name 
Grew  to  a  word  of  power,  her  voice  a  spell 
With  charm  to  soothe  its  infant  wearying 

well. 
But,  in  a  later  and  maturer  age, 
Developed  to  a  dignity  more  sage, 
Having    its    Shakspeares    and   its   Words- 
worths  now, 


INTRODUCTORY.  d 

Its  Southeys  and  its  Tennysons,  to  wear 

A  halo  on  the  high  and  lordly  brow, 

Or  poei>laurels  in  the  waving  hair ; 

Its  Lowells,  Whittiers,  Longfellows,  to  sing 

Ballads  of  beanty,  like  the  notes  of  spring, 

The  wise  and  prudent  ones  to  nursery  use 

Leave  the  dear  lyrics  of  old  Mother  Goose. 

Wisdom    of    babes,  —  the    nursery    Shak- 

speare  still,  —  - 
Cackles  she  ever  with  the  same  good-will : 
Uttering  deep  counsels  in  a  foolish  guise, 
That  come  as  warnings,  even  to  the  wise ; 
As  when,  of  old,  the  martial  city  slept, 
Unconscious  of  the  wily  foe  that  crept 
Under  the  midnight,  till  the  alarm  was  heard 
Out   from  the  mouth  of  Eome's  j)lebeian 

bird. 


4  INTRODUCTORY. 

Full  many  a  rare  and  subtile  thing  hath 

she, 
Undreamed  of  in  the  world's  philosophy : 
Toss-balls   for    children   hath    she    humbly 

rolled, 
That  shining  jewels  secretly  enfold ; 
Sibylline  leaves  she  casteth  on  the  air, 
Twisted  in  fool's-caps,  blown  unheeded  by, 
That,  in  their  lines  grotesque,  albeit,  bear 
Words  of  grave  truth,  and  signal  prophecy ; 
And  lurking  satire,  whose  sharp  lashes  hit 
A  world  of  follies  with  their  homely  wit ; 
With  here  and  there  a  roughly  uttered  hint, 
That   makes   you    wonder   at   the   beauty 

in't; 
As  if,  along  the  wayside's  dusty  edge, 
A   hot-house    flower   had   blossomed   in    a 

hedge. 


INTRODUCTORY.  0 

So,  like  brave  Layard  in  old  Nineveh, 
Among  the  memories  of  ancient  song, 
As  curious  f  elics,  I  would  fain  bestir ; 
And  gather,  if  it  might  be,  into  strong 
And  shapely  show,  some  wealth  of  its 

lost  lore; 
Fragments    of    Truth's    own    architecture, 

strewed 
In  forms  disjointed,  whimsical,  and  rude, 
That  yet,  to  simpler  vision,  grandly  stood 
Complete,  beneath  the   golden  light  of 

yore ! 


BKAHMIC 


If  a  great  poet  think  he  sings, 
Or  if  the  poem  think  it's  sung, 

They  do  but  sport  the  scattered  plumes 
That  Mother  Goose  aside  hath  flung. 

Far  or  forgot  to  me  is  near: 

Shakspeare  and  Punch  are  all  the  same  ; 
The  vanished  thoughts  do  reappear, 

And  shape  themselves  to  fun  or  fame. 

They  use  my  quills,  and  leave  me  out, 
Oblivious  that  I  wear  the  tvings  ; 


BRAHMIC.  7 

Or  that  a  Goose  has  been  about, 
When  every  little  gosling  sings. 

Strong  men  may  strive  for  grander  thought, 
But,  six  times  out  of  every  seven, 

My  old  philosophy  hath  taught 

All  they  can  master  this  side  heaven. 


LITTLE   BOY   BLUE. 


"  Little  boy  blue  !  come  blow  your  horn  I 
The  sheep  in  the  meadow,  the  cows  in  the  corn ! 
Where  's  little  boy  blue,  that  looks  after  the  sheep  ? 
He 's  under  the  hay-mow,  fast  asleep !  " 

Of  morals  in  novels,  we  've  had  not  a  few ; 
With  now  and  then  novel  moralities  too ; 
And  we  've  weekly  exhortings  from  pulpit 

to  pew ; 
But  it  strikes  me,  —  and  so  it  may  chance 

to  strike  you, — 
Scarce   any  are   better   than  "Little   Boy 
Blue." 


10  LITTLE   BOY   BLUE. 

For  the  veteran  dame  knows  her  business 

right  well, 
And    her    quaint   admonitions    unerringly 

tell: 
She  strings  a  few  odd,  careless  words  in  a 

jingle, 
And  the  sharp,  latent  truth  fairly  makes 
your  ears  tingle. 

u  Azure-robed   Youth  ! "  she   cries,  "  up   to 

thy  post! 
And  watch,  lest  thy  wealth  *be  all  scattered 

and  lost: 
Silly  thoughts   are  astray,  beyond  call  of 

the  horn, 
And  passion  breaks  loose,  and  gets  into  the 

corn ! 


LITTLE   BOY   BLUE.  11 

Is  this  the  way  Conscience  looks  after  her 
sheep  ? 

In  the  world's  soothing  shadow,  gone  sound- 
ly asleep  ?  " 

Is  n't  that,  now,  a  sermon  ?  No  lengthened 
vexation 

Of  heads,  and  divisions,  and  argumenta- 
tion, 

But  a  straightforward  leap  to  the  sure  ap- 
plication ; 

And,  though  many  a  longer  harangue  is 
forgot, 

Of  which  careful  reporters  take  notes  on 
the  spot, 

I  think,  —  as  the  "  Deacon  "  declared  of  his 
"shay," 


12  LITTLE   BOY   BLUE. 

Put  together  for  lasting  for  ever  and  aye,  — 
A  like  immortality  holding  in  view, 
The  old  lady's  discourse  will  undoubtedly 
"dew"! 


HICCOEY,  DICCOEY,  DOCK 


"  Hiccory,  diccory,  dock  ! 
The  mouse  ran  up  the  clock. 
The  clock  struck  one,  and  down  she  run: 
Hiccory,  diccory,  dock !  " 

She  had  her  simple  nest  in  a  safe  and  cun- 
ning place, 

Away  down  in  the  quiet  of  the  deep,  old- 
fashioned  case. 

A  little  crevice  nibbled  out  led  forth  into 
the  world, 

And  overhead,  on  busy  wheels,  the  hours 
and  minutes  whirled. 

High  up  in  mystic  glooms  of  space  was 

awful  scenery 
Of  wires,  and  weights,  and  springs,  and  all 

great  Time's  machinery; 

13 


14  HICCORY,   DICCORY,   DOCK. 

But  she  had  nought  to  do  with  these;    a 

blessed  little  mouse, 
Whose  only  care  beneath  the  sun  was  just 

to  keep  her  house. 


For  this  was  all  she  knew,  or  could;  with- 
out her,  just  the  same 

The  earth's  great  centre  drew  the  weight; 
the  pendulum  went  and  came; 

A.nd  days  were  born,  and  grew,  and  died; 
and  stroke  by  stroke  were  told 

The  hours  by  which  the  world  and  men 
are  ever  growing  old. 


It  suddenly  occurred  to  her,  —  it  struck  her 
all  at  once,— 

That  living  among  things  of  power,  her- 
self had  been  a  dunce. 


HICCORY,  DICCORY,  DOCK.      15 

K  Somebody  winds  the  clock !  "  she  cried 
K  Somebody  comes  and  brings 

An  iron  finger  that  feels  through  and  fum 
bles  at  the  springs; 

"And  then  it  happens;   then  the  buzz  is 

stirred  afar  and  near, 
And  the  hour  sounds,  and  everywhere  the 

great  world  stops  to  hear. 
I  don't  think,  after  all,  it  seems  so  hard  a 

thing  to  do. 
I  know  the  way  — I  might  run  up  and 

make  folks  listen  too." 

She  sprang  upon  the  leaden  weight;  but 
not  the  merest  whit 

Did  all  her  added  gravity  avail  to  hurry  it. 

She  clambered  up  the  steady  cord;  it  wav- 
ered not  a  hair. 

She  got  among  the  earnest  wheels;  they 
knew  not  she  was  there. 


10  HICCORY,   DI00ORY,   DOCK. 

She  sat  beside  the  silent  bell ;  the  patient 

hammer  lay- 
Waiting  an  unseen  bidding  for  the  word 

that  it  should  say. 
Only  a  solemn  whisper  thrilled  the  cham- 
bers of  the  clock, 
And  the  mouse  listened :  "  Hiccory !  hie  — 
diccory!  die  —  dock!" 


Something  was  coming.  She  had  hit  the 
ripeness  of  the  time; 

No  tiny  second  was  outreached  by  that  ex- 
ultant climb; 

In  no  wise  did  the  planet  turn  the  faster  to 
the  sun; 

She  only  met  the  instant,  but  the  great 
clock  sounded  —  "  Onel " 


HICCORY,   DICCORY,   DOCK.  17 

What  then?      Did  she   stand  gloriously 

among  those  central  things, 
Her  eye  upon  the  vibrant  bell,  her  heel 

upon  the  springs? 
"Was  her  soul  grand  in  unison  with  that 

resounding  chime, 
And  her  pulse-beat  identical  with  the  high 

pulse  of  Time? 

Ah,  she  was  little!     When  the  air  first 

shattered  with  that  shock, 
Down  ran  the  mouse  into  her  hole.     w  Hie, 

diccory !  die  —  dock !  " 
Too  plain  to  be  translated  is  the  truth  the 

tale  would  show, 
Small  souls,  in  solemn  upshot,  had  better 

wait  below. 


BO-PEEP. 


"  Little  Bo-Peep 

Has  lost  her  sheep, 
And  does  n't  know  where  to  find  'em ; 

Let  'em  alone, 

And  they  '11  come  home, 
And  bring  their  tails  behind  'em** 

Hope  beckoned  Youth,  and  bade  him  keep, 
On  Life's  broad  plain,  his  shining  sheep, 
And  while  along  the  sward  they  came, 
He  called  them  over,  each  by  name ; 
This  one  was  Friendship, — that  was  Health; 
Another  Love,  —  another  Wealth ; 


BO-PEEP.  19 

One,  fat,  full-fleeced,  was  Social  Station ; 
Another,  stainless,  Eeputation ; 
In  truth,  a  goodly  flock  of  sheep,  — 
A  goodly  flock,  but  hard  to  keep. 

Youth  laid  him  down  beside  a  fountain ; 
Hope  spread  his  wings  to  scale  a  mountain ; 
And,  somehow,  Youth  fell  fast  asleep, 
And  left  his  crook  to  tend  the  sheep : 
No  wonder,  as  the  legend  says, 
They  took  to  very  crooked  ways. 

He  woke  —  to  hear  a  distant  bleating,  — 
The  faithless  quadrupeds  were  fleeting ! 

Wealth  vanished  first,  with  stealthy  tread, 
Then  Friendship  followed  —  to  be  fed,  — 
And  foolish  Love  was  after  led  : 


20  BO-PEEP. 

Fair  Fame,  —  alas  !   some  thievish  scamp 
Had  marked  him  with  his  own  black  stamp ! 
And  he,  with  Honor  at  his  heels, 
Was  out  of  sight  across  the  fields. 

Health  just  hangs  doubtful,  —  distant  Hope 
Looks  backward  from  the  mountain  slope,  — 
And  Youth  himself —  no  longer  Youth  — 
Stands  face  to  face  with  bitter  Truth. 

Yet  let  them  go  !     'T  were  all  in  vain 
To  linger  here  in  faith  to  find  'em ; 
Forward  !  —  nor  pause  to  think  of  pain,  — 
Till  somewhere,  on  a  nobler  plain, 
A  surer  Hope  shall  lead  the  train 
Of  joys  withheld  to  come  again 

With  golden  fleeces  trailed  behind  'em ! 


SOLOMON    GEUNDY. 


"  Solomon  Grundy 
Born  on  Monday, 
Christened  on  Tuesday, 
Married  on  Wednesday, 
Sick  on  Thursday, 
Worse  on  Friday, 
Dead  on  Saturday, 
Buried  on  Sunday : 
This  was  the  end 
Of  Solomon  Grundy." 

So  sings  the  unpretentious  Muse 
That  guides  the  quill  of  Mother  Goose, 
And  in  one  week  of  mortal  strife 
Presents  the  epitome  of  Life : 


22  SOLOMON   GRUNDY. 

But  down  sits  Billy  Shakspeare  next, 
And,  coolly  taking  up  the  text, 
His  thought  pursues  the  trail  of  mine, 
And,  lo !  the  u  Seven  Ages  "  shine  ! 
O  world !  0  critics !  can't  you  see 
How  Shakspeare  plagiarizes  me  ? 

And  other  bards  will  after  come, 

To  echo  in  a  later  age, 
"  He  lived,  —  he  died :  behold  the  sum, 

The  abstract  of  the  historian's  page  " ; 
Yet  once  for  all  the  thing  was  done, 

Complete  in  Grundy's  pilgrimage. 

For  not  a  child  upon  the  knee 
But  hath  the  moral  learned  of  me ; 
And  measured,  in  a  seven  days'  span, 
The  whole  experience  of  man. 


BOWLS. 


"  Three  wise  men  of  Gotham 
Went  to  sea  in  a  bowl : 
If  the  bowl  had  been  stronger, 
My  song  had  been  longer." 

Mysteriously  suggestive !     A  vague  hint, 
Yet  a  rare  touch  of  most  effective  art, 
That  of  the  bowl,  and  all  the  voyagers  in 't, 
Tells  nothing,  save  the  fact  that  they  did 
start. 
There  ending  suddenly,  with  subtle  craft, 
The    story   stands,  —  as   'twere   a  broken 
shaft,  — - 


24  BOWLS. 

More  eloquent  in  mute  signification, 
Than  lengthened  detail,  or  precise  relation 
So  perfect  in  its  very  non-achieving, 
That,  of  a  truth,  I  cannot  help  believing 
A  rash  attempt  at  paraphrasing  it 
May  prove  a  blunder,  rather  than  a  hit. 

Still,  I  must  wish  the  venerable  soul 
Had  been  explicit  as  regards  the  bowl 
Was  it,  perhaps,  a  railroad  speculation  ? 
Or  a  big  ship  to  carry  all  creation, 
That,  by  some  kink  of  its  machinery, 
Failed,  in  the  end,  to  carry  even  three  ? 
Or  other  fond,  erroneous  calculation 
Of  splendid  schemes  that  died  disastrously  ? 

It  must  have  been  of  Gotham  manufacture ; 
Though  strangely  weak,  and  liable  to  frac- 
ture. 


BOWLS.  25 

Yet  —  pause  a  moment  —  strangely,  did  I 

? 


Scarcely,  since,  after  all,  it  was  but  clay ;  — 
The  stuff  Hope  takes  to  build  her  brittle 

boat, 
And  therein  sets  the  wisest  men  afloat. 
Truly,  a  bark   would   need   be   somewhat 

stronger, 
To  make  the  halting  history  much  longer. 

Doubtless,  the  good  Dame  did  but  gener- 
alize, — 
Took  a  broad  glance  at  human  enterprise, 
And  earthly  expectation,  and  so  drew, 
In  pithy  lines,  a  parable  most  true,  — 
Kindly  to  warn  us  ere  we  sail  away, 
With   life's   great    venture,   in   an   ark   of 
clay, 


26  BOWLS. 

Where  shivered  fragments  all  around  be- 
token, 
How  even  the  "golden  bowl"  at  last  lies 
broken ! 


v>X 


CKADLED  IN  GREEN 


"  Rockaby,  baby, 

Your  cradle  is  green ; 
Father 's  a  nobleman, 

Mother 's  a  queen ; 
And  Betty 's  a  lady, 

And  wears  a  gold  ring, 
And  Johnny 's  a  drummer, 

And  drums  for  the  king ! " 

0  golden  gift  of  childhood ! 

That,  with  its  kingly  touch, 
Transforms  to  more  than  royalty 

The  thing  it  loveth  much ! 


28  CRADLED    IN    GREEN. 

0  second  sight,  bestowed  alone 

Upon  the  baby  seer, 
That  the  glory  held  in  Heaven's  reserve 

Discerneth  even  here ! 

Though  he  be  the  humblest  craftsman, 

No  silk  nor  ermine  piled 
Could  make  the  father  seem  a  whit 

More  noble  to  the  child ; 
And  the  mother, — ah,  what  queenlier  crown 

Could  rest  upon  her  brow, 
Than  the  fair  and  gentle  dignity 

It  weareth  to  him  now? 

E'en  the  gilded  ring  that  Michael 

For  a  penny  fairing  bought, 
Is  the  seal  of  Betty's  ladyhood 

To  his  untutored  thought ; 


CRADLED    IN    GREEN.  29 

And  the  darling  drum  about  his  neck, — 

His  very  newest  toy, — 
A  bandsman  unto  Majesty 

Hath  straightway  made  the  boy ! 

0  golden  gift  of  childhood ! 

If  the  talisman  might  last, 
How  the  dull  Present  still  should  gleam 

With  the  glory  of  the  Past ! 
But  the  things  of  earth  about  us 

Fade  and  dwindle  as  we  go, 
And  the  long  perspective  of  our  life 

Is  truth,  and  not  a  show ! 


-SIMILIA  SIMILIBUS." 


u  There  was  a  man  in  our  town, 

And  he  was  wondrous  wise : 
He  jumped  into  a  bramble-bush, 

And  scratched  out  both  his  eyes. 
But  when  he  saw  his  eyes  were  out, 

With  all  his  might  and  main 
He  jumped  into  another  bush, 

And  scratched  them  in  again ! n 

Old  Dr.  Hahnemann  read  the  tale, 
(And  he  was  wondrous  wise,) 

Of  the  man  who,  in  the  bramble-bush, 
Had  scratched  out  both  his  eyes. 


"SIMILIA    SIMILIBUS."  31 

And  the  fancy  tickled  mightily 

His  misty  German  brain. 
That,  by  jumping  in  another  bush, 

He  got  them  back  again. 

So  he  called  it  "  homo-hop-athy  "  • 

And  soon  it  came  about, 
That  a  curious  crowd  among  the  thorns 

"Was  hopping  in  and  out. 
Yet,  disguise  it  by  the  longest  name 

They  may,  it  is  no  use ; 
For  the  world  knows  the  discovery 

Was  made  by  Mother  Goose ! 

And  not  alone  in  medicine 

Doth  the  theory  hold  good ; 
In  Life  and  in  Philosophy, 

The  maxim  still  hath  stood : 


32  "SIMILIA    SIMILIBUS." 

A  morsel  more  of  anything, 
When  one  has  got  enough, 

And  Nature's  energy  disowns 
The  whole  unkindly  stuff 

A  second  negative  affirms ; 

And  two  magnetic  poles 
Of  charge  identical,  repel, — 

As  sameness  sunders  souls. 
Touched  with  a  first,  fresh  suffering, 

All  solace  is  despised ; 
But  gathered  sorrows  grow  serene, 

And  grief  is  neutralized. 

And  he  who,  in  the  world's  melee, 
Hath  chanced  the  worse  to  catch, 

May  mend  the  matter,  if  he  come 
Back,  boldly,  to  the  scratch ; 


"SIMILIA    SIMILIBUS."  33 

Minding  the  lesson  he  received 
In  boyhood,  from  his  mother, 

Whose  cheery  word,  for  many  a  bump, 
Was,  Up  and  take  another  1 


HOBBY-HORSES. 


"  I  had  a  little  pony, 

His  name  was  Dapple  Gray : 
I  lent  him  to  a  lady 

To  ride  a  mile  away. 
She  whipped  him, 

She  lashed  him, 
She  rode  him  through  the  mire ; 
I  would  n't  lend  my  pony  now, 
For  all  the  lady's  hire." 

Our  hobbies,  of  whatever  sort 
They  be,  mine  honest  friend, 

Of  fancy,  enterprise,  or  thought, 
'T  is  hardly  wise  to  lend. 


HOBBY-HORSES.  35 

Some  fair  imagination,  shrined 

In  form  poetic,  maybe, 
You  fondly  trusted  to  the  World, — 

That  most  capricious  Lady. 

Or  a  high,  romantic  theory, 

Magnificently  planned, 
In  flush  of  eager  confidence 

You  bade  her  take  in  hand. 

But  she  whipped  it,  and  she  lashed  it, 
And  bespattered  it  with  mire, 

Till  your  very  soul  felt  stained  within, 
And  scourged  with  stripes  of  fire. 

Yet  take  this  thought,  and  hold  it  fast, 

Ye  Martyrs  of  To-day ! 
That  same  great  World,  with  all  its  scorn, 

You  've  lifted  on  its  way  ! 


MISSIONS 


tt  Hogs  in  the  garden,— 
Catch  'em,  Towser ! 
Cows  in  the  cornfield, — 

Run,  boys,  run! 
Fire  on  the  mountains,— 

Run,  boys,  run  boys  I 
Cats  in  the  cream-pot, — 
Run,  girls,  run!" 

I  don't  stand  up  for  Woman's  Right ; 

Not  I, — no,  no  ! 
The  real  lionesses  fight, — 

I  let  it  go. 


MISSIONS.  37 

Yet,  somehow,  as  I  catch  the  call 

Of  the  world's  voice, 
That  speaks  a  summons  unto  all 

Its  girls  and  boys ; 

In  such  strange  contrast  still  it  rings 

As  church-bells'  borne 
To  the  pert  sound  of  tinkling  things 

One  hears  at  home  \ 
And  wakes  an  impulse,  not  germane 

Perhaps,  to  woman, 
Yet  with  a  thrill  that  makes  it  plain 

'T  is  truly  human ;  — - 

A  sudden  tingle  at  the  springs 

Of  noble  feeling, 
The  spiritrpower  for  valiant  things 

Clearly  revealing. 


38  MISSIONS. 

But  Eden's  curse  doth  daily  deal 

Its  certain  dole, — 
And  the  old  grasp  upon  the  heel 

Holds  back  the  soul ! 

So,  when  some  rousing  deed 's  to  do, 

To  save  a  nation, 
Or,  on  the  mountains,  to  subdue 

A  conflagration, 
Woman !  the  work  is  not  for  you ; 

Mind  your  vocation ! 
Out  from  the  cream-pot  comes  a  mew 

Of  tribulation ! 

Meekly  the  world's  great  exploits  leave 

Unto  your  betters ; 
So  bear  the  punishment  of  Eve, 

Spirit  in  fetters ! 


MISSIONS.  39 

Only,  the  hidden  fires  will  glow, 

And,  now  and  then, 
A  beacon  blazeth  out  below 

That  startles  men ! 

Some  Joan,  through  battle-field  to  stake, 

Danger  embracing ; 
Some  Florence,  for  sweet  mercy's  sake 

Pestilence  facing ; 
Whose  holy  valor  vindicates 

The  royal  birth 
That,  for  its  crowning,  only  waits 

The  end  of  earth ; 
And,  haply,  when  we  all  stand  freed, 

In  strength  immortal, 
Such  virgin-lamps  the  host  shall  lead 

Through  heaven's  portal ! 


GOING  BACK  TO  OUK  MUTTONS. 


"  There  was  an  old  man  of  Tobago, 
Who  lived  on  riee,  gruel,  and  sago, 

Till,  much  to  his  bliss, 

His  physician  said  this  : 
To  a  leg,  sir,  of  mutton,  you  may  go. 
He  set  a  monkey  to  baste  the  mutton, 
And  ten  pounds  of  butter  he  put  on." 

"  Chain  up  a  child,  and  away  he  will  go  " ; 

I  have  heard  of  the  proverb  interpreted  so; 

The  spendthrift  is  son  to  the  miser, — and 
still, 

When  the  Devil  would  work  his  most  piti- 
less will, 


GOING    BACK    TO    OUR    MUTTONS.  41 

He  sends  forth  the  seven,  for  snch  embas- 
sies kept, 

To  the  house  that  is  empty  and  garnished 
and  swept : 

For  poor  human  nature  a  pendulum  seems., 

That  must  constantly  vibrate  between  two 
extremes. 

The   closer   the   arrow   is    drawn    to    the 

bow, 
Once  slipped  from  the  string,  all  the  further 

't  will  go : 
Let  a  panic  arise  in  the  world  of  finance, 
And  the  mad  flight  of  Fashion  be  checked 

by  the  chance, 
It  certainly  seems  a  most  wonderful  thing, 
When  the  ropes  are  let  go  again,  how  it 

will  swing ! 


42  GOING*    BACK    TO    OUR   MUTTONS. 

And  even  the  decent  observance  of  Lent, 
Stirs  sometimes  a  doubt  how  the  time  has 

been  spent, 
When  Easter  brings  out  the  new  bonnets 

and  gowns, 
And  a  flood  of  gay  colors  o'erflows  in  the 

towns. 

So  in  all  things  the .  feast  doth  still  follow 

the  fast, 
And  the  force  of  the  contrast  gives  zest  to 

the  last; 
And  until  he  is  tried,  no  frail .  mortal  can 

tell, 
The  inch  being  offered,  he  won't  take  the 

ell. 
We  are  righteously  shocked  at  the  follies 

of  fashion ; 


GOING   BACK   TO    OUK   MUTTONS.  43 

Nay,  standing  outside,  may  get  quite  in  a 
passion 
At  the  prodigal  flourishes  other  folks  put 
on: 
But  many  good  people  this  side  of  Tobago, 
If  respited  once  from  their  diet  of  sago, 
Would  outdo  the  monkey  in  basting  the 
mutton  J 


GOING  TO  DOVEE. 


"  Leg  over  leg 

As  the  dog  went  to  Dover ; 
When  he  came  to  a  stile, 
Jump  he  went  over." 

Perhaps  you  would  n't  see  it  here, 
But,  to  my  fancy,  't  is  quite  clear 
That  Mother  Goose  just  meant  to  show 
How  the  dog  Patience  on  doth  go : 
With  steadfast  nozzle,  pointing  low,  — 
Leg  over  leg,  however  slow,  — 
And  labored  breath,  but  naught  complaining, 
Still,  at  each  footstep,  somewhat  gaining, — 


GOING  TO  DOVER.  46 

Quietly  plodding,  mile  on  mile, 
And  gathering  for  a  nervous  bound 

At  every  interposing  stile, — 

So  traversing  the  tedious  ground, 

Till  all.  at  length,  he  measures  ov* x 

And  walks,  a  victor,  into  Dover. 

And,  verily,  no  other  way 
Doth  human  progress  win  the  day; 
Step  after  step, — and  o'er  and  o'er, — 
Each  seeming  like  the  one  before, 
So  that 't  is  only  once  a  while, — 
When  sudden  Genius  springs  the  stile 
That  marks  a  section  of  the  plain, 
Beyond  whose  bound  fresh  fields  again 
Their  widening  stretch  untrodden  sweep,— 
The  world  looks  round  to  see  the  leap. 


46  GOING   TO   DOVER. 

Pale  Science,  in  her  laboratory, 
Works  on  with  crucible  and  wire 

Unnoticed,  till  an  instant  glory 

Crowns  some  high  issue,  as  with  fire, 

And  men,  with  wondering  eyes  awide, 

Gauge  great  Invention's  giant  stride. 

No  age,  no  race,  no  single  soul, 
By  lofty  tumbling  gains  the  goal. 
The  steady  pace  it  keeps  between,  — 
The  little  points  it  makes  unseen,  — 
By  these,  achieved  in  gathering  might, 
It  moveth  on,  and  out  of  sight, 
And  wins,  through  all  that 's  overpast, 
The  city  of  its  hopes  at  last. 


RAGS    AND    EOBES, 


"Hark,  hark! 

The  dogs  do  bark ; 
Beggars  are  coming  to  town ; 

Some  in  rags, 

Some  in  tags, 
And  some  in  velvet  gowns !  * 

Coming,  coming  always ! 
Crowding  into  earth ; 
Seizing  on  this  human  life, 
Beggars  from  the  birth. 


48  RAGS    AND    ROBES. 

Some  in  patent  penury ; 
Some,  alas  !  in  shame ; 
1     And  some  in  fading  velvet 
Of  hereditary  fame ; 

But  all  in  deep,  appeaseless  want, 

As  mendicants  to  live ; 
And  go  beseeching  through  the  world, 

For  what  the  world  may  give. 

Beggars,  beggars,  all  of  us ! 
Expectants  from  our  youth : 
With  hands  outstretched,  and  asking  alms 
Of  Hope  and  Love  and  Truth. 

Nor,  verily,  doth  he  escape 
Who,  wrapt  in  cold  contempt, 

Denies  alike  to  give  or  take, 
And  dreams  himself  exempt ; 


RAGS    AND    ROBES.  49 

Who  never,  in  appeal  to  man, 

Nor  in  a  prayer  to  Heaven, 
Will  own  that  aught  he  doth  desire, 

Or  ask  that  aught  be  given. 

Whose  human  heart  a  stoic  pride 

Folds  as  a  velvet  pall ; 
Yet  hides  a  meagreness  within, 

Worse  beggary  than  all ! 


Coming,  coming  always ! 
And  the  bluff  Apostle  waits 
As  the  throng  pours  upward  from  the  earth 
To  Heaven's  eternal  gates. 

In  shreds  of  torn  affection, 
In  passion-rended  rags ; 


50  RAGS   AND    ROBES. 

While  scarcely  at  the  portal 

The  great  procession  flags ; 

For  the  pillared  doors  of  glory 
On  their  hinges  hang  awide ; 

Where  each  asking  soul  may  enter, 
And  at  last  be  satisfied ! 

But  a  cold,  calm  shade  arriveth, 
In  self-complacent  trim, — 

And  Peter  riseth  up  to  see 
Especially  to  him. 

"  Good  morrow,  saint !  I  'm  going  in 
To  take  a  stroll,  you  know ; 

Not  that  I  ward  for  anything, — 
But  just  to  see  the  show ! " 

"  Hold ! "  thunders  out  the  warden, 
a  Be  pleased  to  pause  a  bit ! 


RAGS   AND    ROBES.  51 

For  seats  celestial,  let  me  say, 

You  're  not  apparelled  fit : 
Yonder 's  the  brazen  door  that  leads 

Spectators  to  the  pit ! 

Whatever  may  be  thought  on  earth, 
We  've  other  rules  in  heaven ; 

And  only  poverty  confessed 
Finds  free  admittance  given  I " 


BLACKBIRDS. 


"  Sing  a  song  o'  sixpence,  a  pocket  full  of  rye  ; 
Four  and  twenty  blackbirds  baked  in  a  pie : 
When  the  pie  was  opened,  they  all  began  to  sing, 
And  was  n't  this  a  dainty  dish  to  set  before  the  king  ? 
The  king  was  in  his  counting-house,  counting  out  his 

money ; 
The  queen  was  in  the  parlor,  eating  bread  and  honey ; 
The  maid  was  in  the  garden,  hanging  out  the  clothes, 
And  along  came  a  blackbird,  and  nipt  off  her  nose  ! " 

It  does  n't  take  a  conjurer  to  see 
The  sort  of  curious  pasty  this  might  be ; 
A  flock  of  flying  rumors,  caught  alive, 
And  housed,  like  swarming  bees  within  a 
hive,  — 


BLACKBIRDS.  53 

Instead   of   what   were    far    more    wisely 

done, 
Having  their  worthless  necks  wrung,  every 

one; — 
And  so  a  dish  of  dainty  gossip  making, 

Smooth  covered  with  a  show  of  secrecy, 
That  one  but  takes  the  pleasant  pains  of 

breaking, 
And  out  the  wide-mouthed  knaves  pop, 

eagerly. 

Blackbirds,   indeed!      Each  chattering    on- 

dit 
Comes  forth,  full  feathered,  black  as  black 

can  be ; 
With  quivering  throats,  all   tremulous  to 

sing, 
And    please,    forsooth,    some    little    social 

king; 


54  BLACKBIRDS. 

Whose  reign  may  last  as  long  as  he  is  able 
To  call  his  court  around  a  dinner-table. 

But,  mark  the  sequel !     When  the  laugh  is 

over. 
Think  not  to  get  the  varlets  under  cover : 
The  crust  once  broken,  you  may  seek  in  vain 
To  catch  the  birds,  or  coax  them  in  again ; 
Mrs.  Pandora's  famous  box,  I  wis, 
Was  nothing  worse  than  such  a  pie  as  this : 
And    so,  some   pleasant  morning,  —  when, 

down  town, 
The  king  is  busy  with  his  bags  of  money, 
Leaving  at  home  the  queenly  Mrs.  Brown 
Safe  at  her  breakfast  of  fair  bread  and 

honey,  — 
Some    quiet,    harmless    soul,    who    never 

knows 
Of  any  matters,  save  the  plain  pursuing 


BLACKBIRDS.  55 

Her   daily   round,  —  the   hanging    out    of 
clothes 
Or  other  lawful  work  she  may  be  doing,  — 
Finds,  by  the  sudden  nipping  of  her  nose, 
What  sort  of  mischief  is  about  her  brew- 
ing ! 

Not  that,  indeed,  there 's  anything  to  hinder 
The  thieves  from  flying  though  the  parlor 

window ; 
For  never  yet  could  sentinel  or  warden 
Keep  scandals  wholly  to  the  kitchen  gar- 
den. 

When,  therefore,  as  not  seldom  it  may  be, 
Even  in  the  soberest  community, 
Strange  revelations  somehow  get  about,— 
Like  a  mysterious  cholera  breaking  out 


56  BLACKBIRDS. 

Sudden,  as  Egypt's  blains  'neath  Aaron's  rod, 
Contagious  by  a  whisper  or  a  nod, — 
When  daily  papers  teem  with  many  a  hint 
That  daubs  them  darker  even   than  their 

print ; 
When   it  would  seem,  in    short,  the  very 

D 

Had  let  his  little  imps  out  on  a  spree ; 
Conclude,  beyond  a  reasonable  doubt, 
Although,  perhaps,  you  fail  to  trace  it  out, 
Such  plagues  spring  not  unbidden  from  the 

ground, 
And,  if  the  thing  were  sifted,  't  would  be 

found 
Somebody  's  sown  a  jDOcket  full  of  rye, 
Or  been  regaling  on  a  blackbird  pie ! 


BANBUEY    CROSS, 


"  Ride  a  fine  horse 

To  Banbury  Cross, 
To  see  a  young  woman 

Jump  on  a  white  horse. 
Rings  on  her  fingers, 

And  bells  on  her  toes, 
And  she  shall  have  music 

Wherever  she  goes." 

Prophetic  Dame  !     What  hadst  thou  in  thy 

view  ? 
A  modern  wedding  in  Fifth  Avenue  ? 


58  BANBURY    CROSS. 

Where,  —  like  the   goddess   of  a   heathen 
shrine, 
With  offerings  heaped  in  such  a  glittering 
show 
As  must  have  emptied  a  Peruvian  mine, 
And  would  suggest,  but  that  we  better 
know, 
Marriage  must  be  a  bitter  thing  indeed, 

And,  like  the  Prophet  of  the  Eastern  tale, 
Must  wear  a  very  ugly  face,  to  need 

Such    careful    shrouding    in    the    silver 
veil,  — 
Her  bridal  pomp,  as  a  white  palfrey,  mount- 
ing, 
Caparisoned  at  cost  beyond  all  counting, 
With    diamond-jewelled    fingers,   and    the 

toes 
Ditto,  for  all  that  anybody  knows, 


BANBURY    CROSS.  59 

The  smiling  damsel  goeth  to  the  Banns  ? 

(Why  add   the   "bury/'  or   suggest  the 
a  cross/' 
As  if  such  brilliant  ringing  of  the  hands 

Preluded  aught  of  trial  or  of  loss  ?) 

Shall    not   Life's   golden  bells   still  tinkle 

sweet, 
And  merry  music  make  about  her  feet  ? 
Shall  not  the  silver  sheen  around  her  spread, 
A  lasting  light  along  her  pathway  shed  ? 

No  mocking  satire,  surely,  hides  a  sting, 

Nor  bitter  irony  a  truth  foreshows, 
In  the  gay  chant   the   cheery  dame   doth 
sing,  — 
"She  shall  have  music  wheresoe'er  she 
goes " ? 


60  BANBURY    CROSS. 

She  shall  have  music  !     Shall  she  sit  apart, 
And   let   the   folly-chimes   outvoice   the 

tone 
That   comes   up   wailing    to    the    listening 

heart, 
From    the    great   world,   where   misery 

maketh  moan  ? 
Ah,  Mother  Goose !  if  such  the  tale  it  tells, 
Sing  us  no  more  your  rhyme  of  rings  and 

bells ! 

But  may  not  —  'twere  a  rare   device  in- 
deed !  — 
The  wondrous  oracle  in  both  ways  read  ? 
And  call  up,  as  a  fair  beatitude, 
The  gracious  vision  of  true  womanhood, 
That  with  pure  purpose,  and  a  gentle  might, 
Upheld  and  borne,  as  by  the  steed  of  white, 


BANBURY    CftOSS.  Gl 

Pledged  with  her  golden  ring,  goes  nobly 

forth 
To  trace  her  path  of  joy  along  the  earth, — 
And,  as  she  moves,  makes  music,  silver-shod 
"  With  preparation  of  the  peace  "  of  God, 
That  holds  the  key-note  of  celestial  cheer, 
And  hangs  heaven's  echoes  roimd  her  foot- 
steps here  ? 


ATTIC    SALT. 


•*  Two  little  blackbirds  sat  upon  a  hill, 
One  named  Jack,  the  other  named  Jill ; 
Fly  away,  Jack !  fly  away,  Jill ! 
Come  again,  Jack !  come  again,  Jill ! w 


I  half  suspect  that,  after  all, 

There's  just  the  smallest  bit 
Of  inequality  between 

The  witling  and  the  wit. 
'Tis  only  mental  nimbleness  : 

No  language  ever  brought 
A  living  word  to  soul  of  man 

But  had  the  latent  thought. 


ATTIC   SALT.  63 

You  may  meet,  among  the  million, 

Good  people  every  day,  — 
Unconscious  martyrs  to  their  fate, — 

"Who  seem,  in  half  they  say, 
On  the  brink  of  something  brilliant 

They  were  almost  sure  to  clinch, 
Yet,  by  some  queer  freak  of  fortune, 

Just  escape  it  by  an  inch! 


I  often  think  the  selfsame  shade,  — 

This  difference  of  a  hair,  — 
Divides  between  the  men  of  nought 

And  those  who  do  and  dare. 
An  instant  cometh  on  the  wing, 

Bearing  a  kingly  crown  : 
This  man  is  dazzled  and  lets  it  by  — 

That  seizes  and  brings  it  down. 


64  ATTIC   SALT. 

Winged  things  may  stoop  to  any  door 

Alighting  close  and  low ; 
And  up  and  down,  'twixt  earth  and  sky, 

Do  always  come  and  go. 
Swift,  fluttering  glimpses  touch  us  all, 

Yet,  prithee,  what  avails? 
'Tis  only  Genius  that  can  put 

The  salt  upon  their  tails! 


THE  BIG  SHOE. 


"  There  was  an  old  woman 

Who  lived  in  a  shoe ; 
She  had  so  many  children 

She  did  n't  know  what  to  do: 
To  some  she  gave  broth, 

And  to  some  she  gave  bread, 
And  some  she  whipped  soundly, 

And  sent  them  to  bed." 

Do  you  find  out  the  likeness  ? 

A  portly  old  Dame, — 
The  mother  of  millions, — 

Britannia  by  name : 


6G  THE   BIG    SHOE. 

And  —  howe'er  it  may  strike  you 

In  reading  the  song  — 
Not  stinted  in  space 

For  bestowing  the  throng ; 
Since  the  Sun  can  himself 

Hardly  manage  to  go, 
In  a  day  and  a  night, 

From  the  heel  to  the  toe. 

On  the  arch  of  the  instep 

She  builds  up  her  throne, 
And,  with  seas  rolling  under, 

She  sits  there  alone ; 
With  her  heel  at  the  foot 

Of  the  Himmalehs  planted, 
And  her  toe  in  the  icebergs, 

Unchilled  and  undaunted. 


THE   BIG    SHOE.  67 

Yet  though  justly  of  all 

Her  fine  family  proud, 
'Tis  no  light  undertaking 

To  rule  such  a  crowd ; 
Not  to  mention  the  trouble 

Of  seeing  them  fed, 
And  dispensing  with  justice 

The  broth  and  the  bread. 
Some  will  seize  upon  one,  — 

Some  are  left  with  the  other, — 
And  so  the  whole  household 

Gets  into  a  pother. 
But  the  rigid  old  Dame 

Has  a  summary  way 
Of  her  own,  when  she  finds 

There  is  mischief  to  pay. 
She  just  takes  up  the  rod, 

As  she  lays  down  the  spoon, 


68  THE   BIG    SHOE. 

And  makes  their  rebellious  backs 

Tingle  right  soon  : 
Then  she  bids  them,  while  yet 

The  sore  smarting  they  feel, 
To  lie  down,  and  go  to  sleep, 

Under  her  heel ! 

Only  once  was  she  posed, — 

When  the  little  boy  Sam, 
Who  had  always  before 

Been  as  meek  as  a  lamb, 
Kefused  to  take  tea, 

As  his  mother  had  bid, 
And  returned  saucy  answers 

Because  he  was  chid. 

Not  content  even  then, 

He  cut  loose  from  the  throne, 


THE   BIG    SHOE.  69 

And  set  about  making 

A  shoe  of  his  own ; 
Which  succeeded  so  well, 

And  was  filled  up  so  fast, 
That  the  world,  in  amazement, 

Confessed,  at  the  last, — 
Looking  on  at  the  work 

With  a  gasp  and  a  stare, — 
That  't  was  hard  to  tell  which 

Would  be  best  of  the  pair. 

Side  by  side  they  are  standing 

Together  to-day ; 
Side  by  side  may  they  keep 

Their  strong  foothold  for  aye : 
And  beneath  the  broad  sea, 

Whose  blue  depths  intervene, 
May  the  finishing  string 

Lie  unbroken  between ! 


VICTUALS    AND    DEINK. 


"  There  once  was  a  woman, 

And  what  do  you  think  ? 
She  lived  upon  nothing 

But  victuals  and  drink. 
Victuals  and  drink 

"Were  the  chief  of  her  diet, 
And  yet  this  poor  woman 

Scarce  ever  was  quiet." 

And  were  you  so  foolish 

As  really  to  think 
That  all  she  could  want 

Was  her  victuals  and  drink  ? 


VICTUALS    AND    DBINK.  71 

And  that  while  she  was  furnished 

With  that  sort  of  diet, 
Her  feeling  and  fancy 

Would  starve,  and  be  quiet? 

Mother  Goose  knew  far  better ; 

But  thought  it  sufficient 
To  give  a  mere  hint 

That  the  fare  was  deficient ; 
For  I  do  not  believe 

She  could  ever  have  meant 
To  imply  there  was  reason 

For  being  content. 

Yet  the  mass  of  mankind 

Is  uncommonly  slow 
To  acknowledge  the  fact 

It  behooves  them  to  know ; 


72  VICTUALS   AND    DRINK. 

Or  to  learn  that  a  woman 

Is  not  like  a  mouse, 
Needing  nothing  but  cheese, 

And  the  walls  of  a  house. 

But  just  take  a  man,  — 

Shut  him  up  for  a  day ; 
Get  his  hat  and  his  cane,  — 

Put  them  snugly  away  ; 
Give  him  stockings  to  mend, 

And  three  sumptuous  meals;  — 
And  then  ask  him,  at  night, 

If  you  dare,  how  he  feels ! 
Do  you  think  he  will  quietly 

Stick  to  the  stocking, 
While  you  read  the  news, 

And  u  don't  care  about  talking  "  ? 


VICTUALS    AND    DRINK.  73 

0,  many  a  woman 

Goes  starving,  I  ween, 
Who  lives  in  a  palace, 

And  fares  like  a  queen ; 
Till  the  famishing  heart, 

And  the  feverish  brain, 
Have  spelled  to  life's  end 

The  long  lesson  of  pain. 

Yet,  stay !     To  my  mind 

An  uneasy  suggestion 
Comes  up,  that  there  may  be 

Two  sides  to  the  question. 
That,  while  here  and  there  proving 

Inflicted  privation, 
The  verdict  must  often  be 

"  Wilful  starvation." 


74  VICTUALS    AND    DRINK. 

Since  there  are  men  and  women 
Would  force  one  to  think 

They  choose  to  live  only 
On  victuals  and  drink. 

0  restless,  and  craving, 

Unsatisfied  hearts, 
Whence  never  the  vulture 

Of  hunger  departs ! 
How  long  on  the  husks 

Of  your  life  will  ye  feed, 
Ignoring  the  soul, 

And  her  famishing  need  ? 

Bethink  you,  when  lulled 
In  your  shallow  content, 

'Twas  to  Lazarus  only 
The  angels  were  sent ; 


VICTUALS   AND    DRINK.  75 

And  't  is  he  to  whose  lips 

But  earth's  ashes  are  given, 
For  whom  the  full  banquet 
Is  gathered  in  heaven ! 


COBWEBS    AND    BEOOMS 


"  There  was  an  old  woman 

Tossed  up  in  a  blanket, 
Seventeen  times  as  high  as  the  moon ; 

What  she  did  there 

I  cannot  tell  you, 
But  in  her  hand  she  carried  a  broom. 

Old  woman,  old  woman, 

Old  woman,  said  I, 
O  whither,  O  whither,  O  whither  so  high  ? 

To  sweep  the  cobwebs 
Off  the  sky, 
And  I  '11  be  back  again,  by  and  by." 

Mind  you,  she  wore  no  wings, 
That  she  might  truly  soar  ;  no  time  was  lost 


COBWEBS    AND    BROOMS.  77 

In  growing  such  unnecessary  things ; 
But  blindly,  in  a  blanket,  she  was  tost! 


Spasmodically,  too ! 
'Twas  not  enough  that  she  should  reach 
the  moon; 
But  seventeen  times  the  distance  she  must 
do, 
Lest,   peradventure,    she    get    back   too 
soon. 


That  emblematic  broom ! 
Besom  of  mad  Eeform,  uplifted  high, 
That,  to  reach  cobwebs,  would  precipitate 
doom, 
And  sweep  down  thunderbolts  from  out 
the  sky ! 


78  COBWEBS   AND    BROOMS. 

Doubtless,  no  rubbish  lay 
About  her  door,  —  no  work  was  there  to 
do, — 
That  through  the  astonished  aisles  of  Night 
and  Day, 
She  took  her  valorous  flight  in  quest  of 
new! 

r  Lo  !  at  her  little  broom 
The  great  stars  laugh,  as  on  their  wheels 
of  fire 
They  go,  dispersing  the  eternal  gloom, 
And   shake    Time's   dust  from  off  each 
blazing  tire! 


BLACK    SPIDEES 


"  Little  Miss  Muffet 
Sat  on  a  tuffet, 
Eating  curds  and  whey : 

There  came  a  black  spider, 

And  sat  down  beside  her, 

And  frightened  Miss  Muffet  away," 

To  all  mortal  blisses, 

From  comfits  to  kisses, 
There  's  sure  to  be  something  by  way  of 
alloy ; 

Each  new  expectation 

Brings  fresh  aggravation, 
And  a  doubtful  amalgam 's  the  best  of  our 

joy- 


80  BLACK    SPIDERS. 

You  may  sit  on  your  tuffet ; 
Yes,  —  cushion  and  stuff  it ; 
And  provide  what  you  please,  if  you  don't 
fancy  whey; 
But  before  you  can  eat  it, 
There  '11  be  —  I  repeat  it  — 
Some  sort  of  black  spider  to  come  in  the 
way. 


DAFFY-DOWN-DILLY 


"  Daffy-down-dilly 

Is  new  come  to  town, 
"With  a  petticoat  green, 

And  a  bright  yellow  gown, 
And  her  little  white  blossoms 

Are  peeping  around." 

Now  don't  you  call  this 
A  most  exquisite  thing  ? 

Don't  it  give  you  a  thrill 
With  the  thought  of  the  spring. 

Such  as  once,  in  your  childhood, 
You  felt,  when  you  found 


82  DAFFY-DOWN-DILLY. 

The  first  yellow  buttercups 
Spangling  the  ground? 

When  the  lilac  was  fresh 

With  its  glory  of  leaves, 
And  the  swallows  came  fluttering 

Under  the  eaves  ? 
When  the  bluebird  flashed  by 

Like  a  magical  thing, 
And  you  looked  for  a  fairy 

Astride  of  his  wing  ? 

When  the  clear,  running  water, 

Like  tinkling  of  bells, 
Bore  along  the  bare  roadside 

A  song  of  the  dells, — 
And  the  mornings  were  fresh 

With  unfailing  delight, 


DAFFY-DOWN-DILL  Y.  88 

While  the  sweet  summer  hush 
Always  came  with  the  night  ? 

0'  daffy-down-dilly, 

With  robings  of  gold  ! 
As  our  hearts  every  year 

To  your  coming  unfold, 
And  sweet  memories  stir 

Through  the  hardening  mould, 
We  feel  how  earth's  blossomings 

Surely  are  given 
To  keep  the  soul  fresh 

For  the  spring-time  of  heaven ! 


BAA,  BAA,  BLACK  SHEEP  1 


a  Baa,  baa,  black  sheep ! 
Have  you  any  wool  ? 

Yes,  sir,  —  no,  sir,  — 

Three  bags  full. 
One  for  my  master, 

One  for  my  dame, 
And  one  for  the  little  boy 

That  lives  in  the  lane.'* 

'T  is  the  same  question  as  of  old ; 

And  still  the  doubter  saith, 
"  Can  any  good  be  made  to  come 

From  out  $f  Nazareth  ?  " 


BAA,   BAA,   BLACK    SHEEP  !  85 


No  sheep  so  black  in  all  the  flock, — 

No  human  heart  so  bare, — 
But  hath  some  warm  and  generous  stock 

Of  kindliness  to  share. 

It  may  be  treasured  secretly 
For  dear  ones  at  the  hearth ; 

Or  be  bestowed  by  stealth  along 
The  by-ways  of  the  earth;  — 

And  though  no  searching  eye  may  see, 

Nor  busy  tongue  may  tell, 
Perchance,  where  largest  love  is  laid, 

The  Master  knoweth  well ! 


THE    TWISTER 


4  A  twister,  in  twisting,  would  twist  him  a  twist, 
And,  twisting  his  twists,  seven  twists  he  doth  twist : 
If  one  twist,  in  twisting,  untwist  from  the  twist, 
The  twist,  untwisting,  untwists  the  twist." 

A  ravelled  rainbow  overhead 
Lets  down  to  life  its  varying  thread : 
Love's   blue,  —  Joy's  gold,  —  and,  fair   be- 
tween, 
Hope's  shifting  light  of  emerald  green; 
With,  either  side,  in  deep  relief, 
A  crimson  Pain,  —  a  violet  Grief. 


THE   TWISTER.  87 

Wouldst  thou,  amid  their  gleaming  hues, 
Clutch  after  those,  and  these  refuse  ? 
Believe,  —  as  thy  beseeching  eyes 
Follow  their  lines,  and  sound  the  skies, — 
There,  where  the  fadeless  glories  shine, 
An  unseen  angel  twists  the  twine. 

And  be  thou  sure,  what  tint  soe'er 
The  broken  rays  beneath  may  wear, 
It  needs  them  all,  that,  broad  and  white, 
God's  love  may  weave  the  perfect  light! 


FANTASY 


*  I  have  a  little  sister, 

They  call  her  peep,  peep ; 
She  wades  through  the  water, 

Deep,  deep,  deep ; 
She  climbs  up  the  mountains, 

High,  high,  high; 
My  poor  little  sister, 

She  has  but  one  eye ! " 

Eough  Common  Sense  doth  here  confess 
Her  kinship  to  Imagination ; 

Betraying  also,  I  should  guess, 
Some  little  pride  in  the  relation. 


FANTASY.  89 

For  even  while  vexed,  and  puzzled  too, 
By  the  vagaries  of  the  latter,  — 

Fearful  what  next  the  child  may  do,  — 
She  looks  with  loving  wonder  at  her. 

Plain  Sense  keeps  ever  to  the  road 
That 's  beaten  down  and  daily  trod ; 
While  Fancy  fords  the  rivers  wide, 
And  scrambles  up  the  mountain-side : 
By  which  exploits  she  's  always  getting 
Either  a  tumble  or  a  wetting. 

While  simple  Sense  looks  straight  before, 
Fancy  "  peeps  "  further,  and  sees  more ; 
And  yet,  if  left  to  walk  alone, 

May  chance,  like  most  long-sighted  people, 
To  trip  her  foot  against  a  stone 

While  gazing  at  a  distant  steeple. 


90  FANTASY. 

Nay,  worse !  with  all  her  grace  erratic, 

And  feats  aerial  and  aquatic, 

Her  flights  sublime,  and  moods  ecstatic, 

She  of  the  vision  wild  and  high 

Hath  but  a  solitary  eye ! 

And,  —  not  to  quote  the  Scripture,  which 

Forebodes  the  falling  in  the  ditch, — 

Doubtless  by  following  such  a  guide 

Blindly,  in  all  her  wanderings  wide, 

The  world,  at  best,  would  get  o'  one  side. 

What  then  ?     To  rid  us  of  our  doubt 
Is  there  no  other  thing  to  do 

But  we  must  turn  poor  Fancy  out, 
And  only  downright  Fact  pursue  ? 

Ah,  see  you  not,  bewildered  man ! 
The  heavenly  beauty  of  the  plan  ? 


FANTASY.  91 

'T  was  so  ordained,  in  counsels  high, 

To  give  to  sweet  Imagination 
A  single  deep  and  glorious  eye ; 

But  then  't  was  meant,  in  compensation, 
That  Common  Sense,  with  optics  keen,  — 
As  maid  of  honor  to  a  queen,  — 
On  her  blind  side  should  always  stay, 
And  keep  her  in  the  middle  way. 


JINGLING  AND  JANGLING. 


"  Little  Jack  Jingle 
Used  to  live  single. 
But  when  he  got  tired 

Of  that  kind  of  life, 
He  left  off  being  single, 

And  lived  with  his  wife." 

Your  period 's  pointed,  most  excellent  Moth- 
er! 

Pray  what  did  he  do  when  he  tired  of  the 
other  ? 

For  a  man  so  deplorably  prone  to  ennui 

But  a  queer  sort  of  husband  is  likely  to  be. 


JINGLING   AND    JANGLING.  93 

The  fatigue  might  recur,  —  and,  in  case  it 

should  be  so, 
Why  not  take  a  wife  on  a  limited  lease,  0  ? 
Grant  the  privilege,  pray,  to  his  idiosyn- 
crasy, — 
Some  natures  won't  bear  to  be  too  closely 

pinned,  you  see,  — 
And,  at  worst,  the    poor   Benedict   might 

advertise, 
When  weary,  at  length,  of  the  light  of  his 

eyes,— 
Or  failing  to  find  her,  it  may  be,  in  salt,  — 
"Disposed   of,   indeed,   for   no    manner   of 

fault," 
(To   borrow  a  figure   of  speech  from   the 

mart,) 
K  But  because  the  late  owner  has  taken  a 

start ! " 


94  JINGLING   AND    JANGLING. 

I  believe  once  before  you  have  cautiously 

said 
Something  quite  as  concise  on  this  delicate 

head, 
When  distantly  hinting    at   "needles    and 

pins/' 
And  that  u  when  a  man  marries,  his  trouble 

begins  " ; 
But  I  don't  recollect  that  you  ever  pretend 
To  prophesy  anything  as  to  the  end. 

Unless   we   may   learn   it   of  Peter,  —  the 

bumpkin, 
Eenowned  for  naught  else  but  his  eating 

of  pumpkin; 
Whose  wife  —  I  don't  see  how  he  happened 

to  get  her  — 
Had   a  taste,  very  likely,  for  things   that 

were  better: 


JINGLING   AND    JANGLING.  95 

Since,  fearing  to  lose  her,  at  last  it  be- 
fell 

He  bethought  him  of  shutting  her  up  in  a 
shell ; 

By  which  brilliant  contrivance  she  kept  very 
well ! 

What  he  did  with  her  next,  the  old  rhyme 
does  n't  say, 

But  she  seems  to  be  somehow  got  out  of 
the  way, 

For  the  ill-fated  Peter  was  wedded  once 
more, 

To  find  his  bewilderment  worse  than  be- 
fore; 

If  the  first  for  her  spouse  had  but  small 
predilection, 

Now  't  was  his  turn,  alas !  to  fall  short  in 
affection. 


96  JINGLING    AND    JANGLING. 

And  how  do  you  think  that  he  conquered 
the  evil? 

Why,  simply  by  lifting  himself  to  her  level ; 

By  leaving  his  pumpkins,  and  learning  to 
spell, 

He  came,  saith  the  story,  to  love  her  right 
well; 

And  the  mythical  memoir  its  moral  con- 
trives 

For  the  lasting  instruction  of  husbands 
and  wives. 


THE   OLD   WOMAN   OF   SURKEY. 


\ 

'k  There  was  an  old  woman  in  Surrey, 
Who  was  morn,  noon,  and  night  in  a  hurry ; 

Called  her  husband  a  fool, 

Drove  the  children  to  school, 
The  worrying  old  woman  of  Surrey." 

'T  was  an  ancient  earldom  over  the  sea, 

And  it  must  be  now  as  it  used  to  be ; 

Yet  the  sketch  is  of  one   I  have  known 

before,  — 
The  very  old  woman  that  lives  next  door. 


98  THE  OLD   WOMAN   OF   SURREY. 

One      thing     is     unquestionable,  —  she  's 

"  smart/'  — 
As  they  say  of  an  apple  that 's  rather  tart ; 
For    her   nearest   friends,   I    think,   would 

allow  her 
To  be,  at  her  best,  but  a  "  pleasant  sour." 

There  's  a  certain  electrical  atmosphere 
That  you  feel  beforehand,  when  she  's  near : 
And  —  unless  you  've  a  wonderful  deal  of 

pluck  — 
A    shrinking    fear    that     you    might    be 

«  struck." 

She  moves  with  such  a  bustle  and  rush,  — 

Such  an  elemental  stir  and  crush, 

As  makes  the  branches  benfc.  and  fall 

In  the  breeze  that  blows  up  a  thunder-squalL 


THE   OLD    WOMAN    OF    SURREY.  99 

And  yet,  it  is  only  her  endless  "  hurry  " ; 
She  's  not  so  bad  if  she  would  n't  a  worry," 
And,  for  all  the  worlds  that  she  has  to  make. 
If  the  six  days'  time  she  'd  only  take. 

You  may  talk  about  Surrey,  or  Devon,  or 

Kent, 
But  I  doubt  if  a  special  location  was  meant ; 
It  may  sound  severe,  —  but  it  seems  to  me 
That  a  "  representative  "  woman  was  she  ; 

And  that  here  and  there  you  may  chance 

to  trace 
Some  specimens  extant  of  the  race  : 
For  a  slip  of  the  stock,  as  I  've  a  notion, 
Somehow  "in  the  Mayflower"  crossed  the 

ocean. 


PICKLE    PEPPEES 


%  Peter  Piper  picked  a  peck  of  pickle  peppers  ; 

And  a  peck  of  pickle  peppers  Peter  Piper  picked; 
If  Peter  Piper  picked  a  peck  of  pickle  peppers 
Where's  the  peck  of  pickle  peppers  Peter  Piper 
picked  ?  " 

Poor  Peter  toiled  his  life  away, 

That  afterward  the  world  might  say 

"  Where  is  the  peck  of  peppers  he 

Did  gather  so  industriously  ?  " 

The  peppers  are  embalmed  in  metre,  — 

But  who,  alas  !  inquires  for  Peter  ? 


PICKLE   PEPPERS.  10} 

In  sun  or  storm,  by  night  and  day, 
Scant  time  for  sleep,  and  none  for  play, 
Still  the  poor  fool  did  nothing  reck, 
If  only  he  might  pick  his  peck : 
And  what  result  from  all  hath  sprung, 
But  just  to  bite  somebody's  tongue  ? 
Or,  —  Lady  Fortune  playing  fickle,  — 
Get  some  one  in  a  precious  pickle? 


HUMPTY    DUMPTY 


"  Rumpty  Dumpty  sat  on  a  wall : 
Humpty  Dumpty  had  a  great  fall : 
Not  all  the  king's  horses  nor  all  the  king's  men 
Could  set  Humpty  Dumpty  up  again." 

Full  many  a  project  that  never  was  hatched 

Falls  down,  and  gets  shattered  beyond  be- 
ing patched; 

And  luckily,  too !  for  if  all  came  to  chick- 
ens, 

Then  things  without  feathers  might  go  to 
the  dickens. 


HUMPTY   DUMPTY.  103 

If  each  restless  unit  that  moves  among  men 
Might  climb  to  a  place  with  the  privileged 

"ten/' 
Pray  tell  us  where  all  the  commotion  would 

stop ! 
Must  the  whole  pan  of  milk,  forsooth,  rise 

to  the  top  ? 

If  always  the  statesman  attained  to  his  hopes, 
And  grasped  the   great  helm,  who  would 

stand  by  the  ropes  ? 
Or  if  all  dainty  fingers  their  duties  might 

choose, 
Who  would  wash  up  the  dishes,  and  polish 

the  shoes? 

Suppose  every  aspirant  writing  a  book 
Contrived  to  get  published,  by  hook  or  by 
crook ; 


104  HUMPTY    DUMPTY. 

Geologists  then  of  a  later  creation 

Would  be  startled,  I  fancy,  to  find  a  forma- 
tion 

Proving  how  the  poor  world  did  most  wo- 
fully  sink 

Beneath  mountains  of  paper,  and  oceans  of 
ink! 

Or  even  suppose  all  the  women  were  mar- 
ried; 

By  whom  would  superfluous  babies  be  car- 
ried ? 

Where  would  be  the  good  aunts  that  should 
knit  all  the  stockings  ? 

Or  nurses,  to  do  up  the  singings  and  rock- 
ings  ? 

Wise  spinsters,  to  lay  down  their  wonderful 
rules, 


HUMPTY   DUMPTY.  105 

And  with   theories  rare    to  enlighten  the 

fools,  — 
Or   to   look    after   orphans,   and    primary 

schools  ? 

No  !     Failure 's  a  part  of  the  infinite  plan  ; 
Who  finds  that  he  can't,  must  give  way  to 

who  can; 
And  as  one  and  another  drops  out  of  the 

race, 
Each  stumbles  at  last  to  his  suitable  place. 

So  the  great  scheme  works  on,  —  though, 
like  eggs  from  the  wall, 

Little  single  designs  to  such  ruin  may  fall, 

That  not  all  the  world's  might,  of  its  horses 
or  men, 

Could  set  their  crushed  hopes  at  the  sum- 
mit again. 


SUNDAY    AND    MONDAY. 


u  As  Tommy  Snooks  and  Bessy  Brooks 
Were  walking  out  one  Sunday, 
Says  Tommy  Snooks  to  Bessy  Brooks, 
To-morrow  will  be  Monday." 

No  doubt  you  are  smiling  at  such  a  remark, 

And  thinking  poor  Snooks  but  a  pitiful 
spark ; 

But  the  words  have  a  meaning,  worth  look- 
ing for,  too, 

As  I'll  presently  try  and  demonstrate  for 
you. 


SUNDAY   AND    MONDAY.  107 

'Twas  a  pity,  indeed,  in  that  moment  of 
leisure, 

To  dampen  poor  Bessy's  hebdomadal  pleas- 
ure, 

Suggesting  that  close  on  the  beautiful  Sun- 
day 

Must  come  all  the  common-place  horrors 
of  Monday ; 

That   he    to    his    toiling,   and    she  to   her 

tub, 
Must  turn,  and  take  up  with  another  week's 

rub; 
Yet  a  truth  for  us  all,  since  the  shade  of 

the  real 
Follows  fast  on  the  track  of  each  sunny 

ideal. 


108  SUNDAY    AND    MONDAY. 

Now   and   then   we   may  pause   on   Life's 

pleasant  oases ; 
But  between  lie  the  desert's  grim,  desolate 

spaces ; 
And  our  feet,  with  all  patience,  must  trav- 
erse them  still, 
Eeaching    forward    to    blessing,    through 

bearing  of  ill. 

Yet  for   Snooks  and  his   Bessy,  —  for  me 

and  for  you,  — 
Comes  a  Saturday  night  when  the  wage 

will  be  due ; 
And   we'll  say  to  each  other,  in  ecstasy, 

one  day, 
"  To-morrow  —  the  endless  to-morrow  —  is 

Sunday ! " 


THE    MAD    HORSE 


"There  was  a  mad  man, 

And  he  had  a  mad  wife, 

And  the  children  were  mad  beside ; 
So  on  a  mad  horse 
They  all  of  them  got, 

And  madly  away  did  ride." 


Sagacious  Goose!     Fresh  wonders  yet! 
What  spell  had  power  to  help  you  get 
Those  seven-leagued  spectacles,  that  see 
Down  to  the  nineteenth  century? 

K  The  mad  world,  and  his  madder  wife ! " 
That,  in  your  earlier  time  of  life,  — 
Though  quite  demented  now,  ?t  is  plain,  - 
Were  sober,  grave,  and  almost  sane! 

109 


110  THE   MAD   HORSE. 

And  all  the  tribes,  a  motley  brood 
Sprung  into  being  since  the  flood, 
"With  their  hereditary  bent 
To  cerebral  bewilderment! 

If  some  old  ghost,  precise  and  slow, 
Who  died  a  hundred  years  ago,  — 
Always  supposing  he  himself 
Has  lain,  meanwhile,  upon  the  shelf, — 

Things  as  they  are  might  only  see, 
Surely  his  inference  would  be 
A  simultaneous  bursting  out 
Of  lunacy  the  earth  about. 

K  The  world  is  mad;  his  wife  is  mad; 

The  rising  generation  's  madder; " 
And  when  a  charter  can  be  had, 

Up  to  the  moon  they  '11  build  a  ladder! 


THE   MAD   HORSE.  Ill 

They  caught  a  horse  awhile  ago,  — 

They  called    him    Steam,  —  but  he  was 

slow; 
After  the  lightning  then  they  ran, 
Caught  him,  —  and  now  they  drive   the 

span!  —I860. 

P.  S.  — 1870. 
The  great  Pacific  railroad  's  done; 
They  Ve  poured  two  oceans  into  one: 
Two  shores  with  whispering  cable  tied, 
And  cut  a  path  for  ships  to  ride, 
Where  camel-tracks  had  used  to  be, 
Through  desert  sands,  from  sea  to  sea. 

Moon,  quoth  I?    Faith,  they  Ve  made  a 

moon! 
Leastwise,  they  Ve   thought  one;1  and   so 

soon 

1  E.  E.  Hale's  Brick  Moon:  likewise  Jules  Verne's  Pro- 
jectile. 


112  THE   MAD    HORSE. 

Upon  man's  whim  his  stroke  succeeds, 
And  turns  his  dreams  into  his  deeds, 
Look  sharply  !  for  with  word  and  blow, 
They  '11  swing  one  up  before  you  know ! 

1882. 

Why  put  a  double  P.  S.  in  ? 

'T  would  need  a  daily  bulletin 

To  tell  how  fast  the  craze  goes  on, 

With  Keeley  and  with  Edison ; 

With  things  to  eat,  and  things  to  travel,  - 

Bicycles  spinning  o'er  the  gravel,  — 

Great  guns  to  simplify  the  fights,  — 

Suns  outshone  with  electric  lights,  — 

The  whisper  in  the  closet  stirred 

In  sooth  across  the  housetops  heard, 

And  when  the  airy  tangle  tires 

Earth  to  be  veined  with  throbbing  wires. 


THE    MAD    HOUSE.  113 

Women  to  physic  and  to  preach, 
And  help  the  national  bird  to  screech ; 
One  man  on  Wall-Street  cnrb  to  stand, 
With  twenty  railroads  in  his  hand ; 
Schools  for  the  mass,  effecting  this, 
That  all  may  know  what  most  must  miss ! 
Ah,  who  so  sage  that  can  pretend 
To  pre-sage  of  such  tale  the  end  ? 

I  press  the  limit  of  my  page  ; 
So,  haply,  may  this  frantic  age  ! 


EOSES  AND  DIAMONDS. 


"  Little  girl,  little  girl,  where  have  you  been  ? 
Gathering  roses  to  give  to  the  queen. 
Little  girl,  little  girl,  what  gave  she  you  ? 
She  gave  me  a  diamond  as  big  as  my  shoe." 

If   the   old   could    share   with    the   young 
again,  — 

If  worn  could  borrow  of  new,  — 
If  faces  could  wear  their  roses  again, 

And  hearts  be  sweetened  with  dew,  — 
If  a  child  might  bring  the  joy  of  a  child, 

And  give  it  to  us  to-day,  — 

What  glory  of  gem,  or  what  weight  of  gold 

Would  we  think  too  precious  to  pay  ? 

114 


JACK     H0E1STBE 


"Little  Jack  Horner 

Sat  in  a  corner 
Eating  a  Christmas  Pie : 

He  put  in  his  thumb, 

And  pulled  out  a  plum, 
And  said,  '  What  a  great  boy  ami!"' 

Ah,  the  world  hath  many  a  Horner, 

"Who,  seated  in  his  corner, 

Finds  a  Christmas  Pie  provided  for   his 

thumb : 

And  cries  out  with  exultation, 

When  successful  exploration 

Doth  discover  the  predestinated  plum ! 

115 


116  JACK    HORSTER. 

Little  Jack  outgrows  his  tier, 

And  becometh  John,  Esquire; 
And  he  finds  a  monstrous  pasty  ready  made, 

Stuffed  with  stocks  and  bonds  and  bales, 

Gold,  currencies  and  sales, 
And  all  the  mixed  ingredients  of  Trade. 

And  again  it  is  his  luck 

To  be  just  in  time  to  pluck, 
By  a  clever  w  operation,"  from  the  pie 

An  unexpected  w  plum  " ; 

So  he  glorifies  his  thumb, 
And  says,  proudly,  "  What  a  mighty  man 
ami!" 

Or  perchance,  to  Science  turning, 
And  with  weary  labor  learning 
All  the  formulas  and  phrases  that  oppress 
her, — 


JACK    HORNER.  117 

For  the  fruit  of  others'  baking 
So  a  fresh  diploma  taking, 
Comes  he  forth,  a  full  accredited  Profes- 
sor! 

Or  he  ?s  not  too  nice  to  mix 

In  the  dish  of  politics ; 
And  the  dignity  of  office  he  puts  on; 

And  he  feels  as  big  again 

As  a  dozen  nobler  men, 
While   he   writes   himself  the   Honorable 
John! 

Ah,  me,  for  the  poor  nation! 
In  her  hour  of  desperation 
Her  worst  foe  is  that  unsparing  Horner- 
Thumb! 
To  which  War,  and  Death,  and  Hate, 
Bight,  Policy,  and  State, 
Are   but   pies  wherefrom  his  greed   may 
grasp   a  plum! 


118  JACK    HORNER. 

Oh,  the  work  was  fair  and  true, 

But 't  is  riddled  through  and  through, 
And  plundered  of  its  glories  everywhere; 

And  before  men's  cheated  eyes 

Doth  the  robber  triumph  rise 
And  magnify  itself  in  all  the  air. 

"Why,  if  even  a  good  man  dies, 

And  is  welcomed  to  the  skies 
In  the  glorious  resurrection  of  the  just, 

They  must  ruffle  it  below 

"With  some  vain  and  wretched  show, 
To  make  each  his  little  mud-pie  of  the  dust ! 

Shall  we  hint  at  Lady-Horners, 

Who  in  their  exclusive  corners 
Think  the  world  is  only  made  of  upper- 
crust? 

Who  in  the  queer  mince-pie 

That  we  call  Society, 
Do  their  dainty  fingers  delicately  thrust; 


JACK    HORNER.  119 

Till,  if  it  come  to  pass, 
In  the  spiced  and  sugared  mass, 
One  should  compass,  —  do  n't  they  call  it 
so?  —  a  catch, 
By  the  gratulation  given 
It  would  seem  the  very  heaven 
Had   outdone    itself   in    making    such   a 
match ! 

Or  the  Woman-Horner,  now, 
"Who  is  raising  such  a  row 
To  prove  that  Jack  's  no  bigger  boy  than 
Jill; 
And  that  she  wo  n't  sit  by 
"With  her  little  saucer  pie, 
While  he  from  the  Great  Pasty  picks  his 
fill. 

Jealous-wild  to  be  a  sharer 

In  the  fruit  she  thinks  the  fairer, 


120  JACK    HORNER. 

Flings  by  all  for  the  swift  gaining  of  her 
wish; 
Not  discerning  in  her  blindness, 
How  a  tender  Loving-Kindness 
Hid  the  best  things  in  her  own  rejected 
dish! 

O,  the  world  keeps  Christmas  Day 

In  a  queer,  perpetual  way; 
Shouting  always,  "What  a  great  big  boy 
ami!" 

Yet  how  many  of  the  crowd 

Thus  vociferating  loud, 
And   their   honors    or   pretensions   lifting 
high, 

Have  really,  more  than  Jack, 

With  their  boldness  or  their  knack, 
Had  a  finger  in  the  making  of  the  Pie? 


INTY,    MIISTTY 


"Inty,  minty, 

Cutey,  corn ! 
Apple-seed, 

Apple-thorn ! 
Wire,  brier, 

Limber  lock ; 
Seven  geese 

In  a  flock, 
Sit  and  sing,  by  the  spring ; 
O-u-t,  out,  and  in  again." 

Inklings  and  meanings, 
Whispers  and  hints; 

Sprinklings  and  gleanings, 
Shimmers  and  glints. 

121 


122  INTY,   MINTY. 

That 's  how  the  light  comes 
Down  from  the  skies; 

That  's  how  the  beauty 
Is  born  to  our  eyes. 


The  seed  is  within, 

And  the  thorn  is  without: 
Nature's  sweet  secret 

Is  guarded  about. 
Yet  briers  are  slender, 

Locks  are  but  slight, 
To  touch  of  a  genius 

That  searches  with  light. 

"White  by  the  fountain 
Sit  the  calm  seven; 

Unto  their  joyance 
Its  music  is  given. 


INTY,   MINTT.  123 

The  world  looketh  on, 
And  still  wonders  in  vain, 

As  they  go  ont  and  in, 
And  find  pasture  again. 


DOUBLES    AND    BUBBLES 


"Hey,  rub-a-dub! 

Three  maids  in  a  tub  ! 
And  who  do  you  think  was  there  ? 

The  butcher,  the  baker, 

The  candlestick-maker, 
And  all  of  them  gone  to  the  fair." 

Strong  hands  are  in  the  washing-tubs; 

Gay  heads,  the  labor  scorning, 
Make  holiday  between  the  rubs, 

And  sport  of  Monday  morning. 

Three  maids?     That  's  your  arithmetic. 

The  child  that  met  the  poet 

Would  still  to  her  own  counting  stick: 

"We  're  seven;  I  surely  know  it! " 

124 


DOUBLES  AND  BUBBLES.      125 

The  boatman  ferried  over  three 

Across  the  haunted  river; 
And  only  guessed  it  by  his  fee, 

And  wondered  at  the  giver. 

And  Betsey,  Jane,  and  Mary  Ann,  — 
No  more  your  sense  discovers? 

Well,  rub  your  insight  if  you  can, 
And  reckon  up  the  lovers! 

Count  Jane  with  her  stout  cleaver  knight, 

And  Betsey  with  the  baker; 
And  Mary  Ann  in  dreamy  light 

Beside  the  candle-maker. 

Yet  of  the  six  no  soul  is  there, 

For  all  your  wakened  vision ! 
In  the  charmed  circle  of  the  Fair 

They  walk  their  Fields  Elysian! 


126      DOUBLES  AND  BUBBLES. 

The  work  goes  on  by  board  and  bench,  — 
Hard  tax  of  human  sinning,  — 

But  hearts  thro'  labor-chinks  still  wrench 
Some  joy  of  their  beginning. 

In  the  close  limit  that  confines 

Our  getting  and  our  giving, 
Unless  we  read  between  the  lines, 

What  should  we  do  with  living? 


FUWEKAL    HOLIDAY. 


"Ding,  dong,  bell, 
The  cat's  in  the  well ! 
Who  put  her  in  ?    Little  John  Green . 
Who  pulled  her  out  ?     Great  John  Stout ! " 

There  was  never  a  drama  of  sorrow 
But  good  folks  might  be  found,  1 9m  afraid, 

Who  a  queer  satisfaction  could  borrow 
From  the  parts  of  importance  they  played. 

There  is  war  for  four  years  in  the  nation : 

There  are  havoc  and  panic  abroad: 

Comes  a  tempest ;  a  wild  conflagration : 

Great  souls  go  up  home  to  their  God. 

127 


128  FUNERAL    HOLIDAY. 


How  the  tall  Fs  spring  thick  in  the  spell- 
ing!— 

I  knew,  or  I  saw,  or  I  said !  — 
How  the  small  ones  turn  out  to  the  swelling 

Each  splendor  of  final  parade ! 


How  many  are  left,  we  may  wonder, 
Heart-mournful  for  that  which  befell? 

How  many  would  wish  back  the  blunder 
When  the  Cat  has  got  into  the  Well ! 

Nay,  more;  if  with  infinite  bother 
And  peril,  poor  Puss  is  got  out, 

Somehow,  one  boy  seems  famous  as  t'  other, 
John  Green  is  as  big  as  John  Stout! 

See,  now!  let  me  tell  you  a  story 

Of  something  which  hapjDened  in  sooth; 

That  shows  with  how  fearless  a  glory 
The  children  and  simple  speak  truth. 


FUNERAL   HOLIDAY.  129 

Biddy  came  to  her  mistress  refulgent; 

A  whole  sunrise  of  smiles  on  her  face; 
With  w  M'am,  could  ye  be  so  indulgent 

Jist  to  shpare  me  the  day,  if  ye  plase? 

K  It  's     me   cousin     that  's   dead,  —  Kate 
M'Gawtherin,  — 
"Was  married  to  Barnaby  Roach; 
An'  I  'd  want,  —  but  I  hates  to  be  both- 
ering — 
Three  shillin's  to  pay  for  the  coach !  " 

And  so  we  were  minus  our  dinners; 

And  all  that  deplorable  day 
We  fasted,  like  penitent  sinners, 

While  Biddy  the  cook  was  away. 

But  she  came  when  the  sunset  was  gleam- 
ing; 

And  her  story  she  gleefully  told; 
Disdaining  all  dolorous  seeming, 

In  a  way  that  was  good  to  behold. 


130  FUNERAL   HOLIDAY. 

Each  loving  and  sad  recollection 
Of  the  late  Mrs.  Barnaby  Roach 

Quite  absorbed  in  the  single  reflection 
That  she  "  wint  wid  himsel'  in  the  coach ! " 

K  For  he  thrated  me,  faith,  like  a  lady, 
An'  he  paid  me  me  fare,  an'  ahl; 

An'  he  tould  me  that  I,  Bridget  Brady, 
"Was  the  charm  of  the  funeral ! " 


DISEOBBD. 


"  There  was  a  little  woman,  as  I  've  heard  tell, 

She  went  to  market  her  eggs  for  to  sell : 
She  went  to  market  all  on  a  market  day, 
And  she  fell  asleep  on  the  king's  highway. 

"  There  came  a  little  peddler,  his  name  was  Stout; 
He  cut  off  her  petticoats  round  about : 
He  cut  off  her  petticoats  up  to  her  knees, 
And  the  poor  little  woman  began  for  to  freeze. 

"She  began  to  shiver,  and  she  began  to  cry, 
Lawk-a-mercy  on  me !  sure  it  is  n't  I ! 
But  if  it  be  I,  as  I  think  it  ought  to  be, 
I  've  got  a  little  dog  at  home, and  he  knows  me!" 

I  think  of  a  poor,  tired  Soul, 
That  has  trodden,  up  and  down, 

The  tradeways  of  this  busy  life, 
To  and  from  its  market  town, 

131 


132  DISROBED. 

Till,  traffic  and  toil  all  past, 
At  the  silent  close  of  the  day, 

She  lies  down,  weary  and  worn,  at  last, 
On  the  king's  highway;  — 

The  highway  that  brings  all  home, 

Never  a  one  left  out;  — 
And  in  her  sleep  doth  a  Stranger  come 

Who  cuts  her  garments  about. 
Cuts  the  life-tatters  away, 

All  the  old  rags  and  the  stain; 
And  leaves  the  Soul  'twixt  her  night  and 
day, 

To  waken  again. 

Slowly  she  wakens,  and  strange; 

Strange  and  scared  she  doth  seem; 
Marvelling  at  the  mystical  change 

Come  over  her  in  her  dream. 


DISROBED.  133 

cc  Where  is  my  life?  "  she  cries, 

w  That  which  I  knew  me  by? 
Something  is  here  in  an  unknown  guise: 

Can  it  be  I? 


*  I  wonder  if  anything  is : 

Or  if  I  am  anything: 
Did  ever  a  Soul  come  bare  as  this 

From  its  earthward  marketing? 
Let  me  think  down  into  the  past; 

Bethink  me  hard  in  the  cold; 
Find  me  something  to  stand  by  fast; 

Something  to  hold ! " 


She  thinks  away  back  to  the  morning, 
To  something  she  loved  and  knew; 

And  over  her  doubt  comes  dawning 
Sense  of  the  dear  and  true. 


134  DISROBED. 

K I  do  n't  know  if  it  be  I,"  she  sighs ; 

w  But  if  after  all  it  be, 
There  's  a  little  heart  at  home  in  the  skies, 

And  he  '11  know  me! " 


JACK    AND    JILL. 


*'  Jack  and  Jill 

Went  up  the  hill, 
To  draw  a  pail  of  water : 

Jack  fell  down 

And  broke  his  crown, 
And  Jill  came  tumbling  after." 

Jack  and  Jill  went  up  the  hill, 

When  the  world  was  young,  together. 
Jack  and  Jill  went  up  the  hill, 

In  Eden  ways  and  weather. 
She  to  seek  out  blessed  springs, 

He  to  bear  the  burden : 
Nature  their  sole  choice  of  things, 

Love  their  only  guerdon. 

That  was  all  the  simple  creatures  knew. 

135 


136  JACK   AND   JILL. 

Jack  and  Jill  come  down  the  hill, 

In  the  world's  full  years,  together. 
Jack  and  Jill  come  down  the  hill, 

And  there  is  stormy  weather. 
'T  is  all  about  the  pail,  you  see; 

The  sweet  springs  are  behind  them: 
.Empty-hand  jd  seemeth  she 

"Who  only  helped  to  find  them. 
Jill  would  like  to  swing  a  bucket,  too. 

O'er  the  hillside  coming  down, 

Eagerly  and  proudly, 
Sparkling  trophies  to  the  town 

To  bear,  she  clamors  loudly. 
But,  in  face  of  all  the  town, 

Challenging  its  laughter, 
Many  a  Jack  comes  tumbling  down. 

Shall  the  Jills  come  after? 
Is  that  what  the  women  want  to  do? 


JACK  AISTD   JILL.  137 

Listen !    "When  on  heights  of  life 

Hidden  pools  He  planted, 
God  to  Adam  and  his  wife 

"Wise  division  granted. 
Gave  his  son  the  pitcher  broad 

For  wealth  and  weight  of  water; 
But  the  quick  divining-rod 

Confided  to  his  daughter. 
Ah,  if  men  and  women  only  knew! 


CASUS    BELLI 


Impromptu,  July,  1870. 


"  The  sow  came  in  with  the  saddle ; 
The  little  pig  rocked  the  cradle  ; 
The  dish  jumped  up  on  the  table 
To  see  the  pot  swallow  the  ladle ; 
The  spit  that  stood  behind  the  door 
Threw  the  pudding-stick  on  the  floor. 
4  Odsplut ! '  said  the  gridiron, 

Can't  you  agree  ? 

I'm  the  head  constable, 

Bring  'em  to  me.' n 

Spain  came  in  with  an  empty  throne; 
The  little  prince  rocked  his  German  cradle. 
w  No,  no,"  he  said ; 
And  he  shook  his  head; 
w  I  am  well  content  to  be  let  alone." 

138 


CASUS   BELLI.  139 

All  the  dishes  on  pantry-ledge 

And  shelf,  and  table,  were  up  on  edge, 

To  see  how  the  Pot, 

Simmering  hot, 
Would  foam  at  the  dip  of  the  threatening 
ladle. 

Nothing  befell  for  a  minute  or  so 
(Nobody  chose  to  be  first,  you  know), 
Till  the  royal  spit,  with  an  angry  frown, 
Threw  a  little  pudding-stick  down. 
w  Odsplut! "  shouts  Emperor  Gridiron, 

Hissing  for  a  broil, 
K  Those  folks  that  stand  behind  the  door 

Are  getting  up  a  coil ! 
I  've  red  Fire  panting  at  my  feet; 

I  thought  how  things  would  be! 
I  'm  creation's  constable, 

Bring  the  world  to  me !  " 


THE  DAYS  THAT  ARE  LONG 


"  I'll  sing  you  a  song 

Of  the  days  that  are  long ; 
Of  the  woodcock  and  the  sparrow ; 

Of  the  little  dog 

That  burnt  his  tail, 
And  he  shall  be  whipt  to-morrow." 

That  is  the  song  the  world  sings 

Of  the  long  bright  days : 
That  is  the  way  she  evens  things, 

Portions,  and  pays. 

The  dog  that  let  his  tail  burn, 

Proving  one  pain, 
Shall  be  whipt  next  day,  that  he  may  learn 

Wisdom  again. 

140 


THE  DAYS  THAT  ARE  LONG.    141 

That  is  the  song  the  world  sings 

To  sin  and  sorrow: 
Over  her  limit  her  hard  lash  flings 

Into  God's  morrow. 

Measures  His  dear  divine  grace 

In  compass  narrow: 
Counts  for  nothing  the  infinite  days; 

Forgets  the  sparrow. 

The  world  sings  only  a  half  song; 

Leaves  our  hearts  sore : 
Heaven,  in  the  time  that  is  tender  and  long, 

Will  sing  us  more. 


THREESCOKE   AND    TEN 


"How  many  miles  to  Babylon? 
Threescore  and  ten. 
Can  I  get  there  by  candle-light  ? 
Yes,  and  back  again." 

How  many  miles  of  the  weary  way? 

Threescore  miles  and  ten. 
Where  shall  I  be  at  the  end  of  the  day? 

You  shall  be  back  again. 

You  shall  prove  it  all  in  the  lifelong  round ; 

The  joy,  and  the  pain  and  the  sinning; 
And  at  candle-light  your  soul  shall  be  found 

Back  —  at  its  new  beginning. 

142 


THREESCORE   AKD    TEN.  143 

Down  in  his  grave  the  old  man  lies; 

In  from  the  earthward  wild, 
At  the  open  door  of  Paradise 

Enters  a  little  child. 


TWO    LITTLE    BLACKBIRDS. 


"  Two  little  blackbirds  sat  upon  a  stone ; 
One  flew  away,  and  then  there  was  one  ; 
The  other  flew  after  and  then  there  was  none  ; 
So  the  poor  stone  was  left  all  alone." 

One  of  these  little  birds  back  again  flew  ; 
The  other  came  after,  and  then  there  were  two ; 
Says  one  to  the  other,  pray,  how  do  you  do  ? 
Very  well,  thank  you,  and,  pray,  how  are  you  ? 

A  stone  is  the  barest  fact : 

But  living  and  wonderful  things 

Gather  to  earthly  occasion  and  act 

With  folded  or  parting  wings. 

144 


TWO    LITTLE    BLACKBIRDS.  145 

Birds  of  the  air  are  they,  — 

Our  knowledge,  our  thought,  our  love,  — 
And  the  ethers  in  which  they  win  their  way 

Are  breaths  of  the  heaven  above. 

Some  place  and  point  of  the  hour,  — 
The  same  little  fact  for  two,  — 

Who  knoweth  the  lasting  wonder  and  power 
Tt  holdeth  for  me  and  you  ; 

Away  in  the  long-past  years, 

With  trifle  of  merest  chance, 
Keeping,  through  losing,  and  blinding,  and 
tears, 

The  key  of  its  circumstance  ? 

I,  left  to  the  narrowed  earth,  — 
You  into  the  great  heaven  gone,  — 


146  TWO    LITTLE    BLACKBIRDS. 

And  things  of  our  sharing,  —  our  work,  our 
mirth,  — 
So  lonely  to  brood  upon  ! 

Yet  ever,  when  thought  recurs, 

With  hardly  a  reckoning  why, 
To  some  old,  small  memory,  straightway  stirs 

That  sound  of  wings  in  the  sky  ; 

And  like  birds  to  a  resting-place,  — 
No  longer  one,  but  the  two,  — 

Alight  the  remembrances,  face  to  face, 
Alive  between  me  and  you  ; 

And  heaven  grows  real  and  dear, 
And  earth  widens  up  to  heaven ; 

And  all  that  had  vanished,  and  stayed   so 
near, 
In  one  marvellous  glimpse  is  given. 


TWO   LITTLE   BLACKBIRDS.  147 

For  memory  is  return  : 

Ourselves  are  what  we  have  been  : 
And  what  we  have  been  together,  we  learn 

Our  life  doth  continue  in. 

Spread,  then,  the  angel  wings ! 

I  lose  you  not  as  you  go  ; 
Since  heart   finds   heart   in   the   uttermost 
things 

Two  thoughts  may  revisit  so  ! 


TAFFY. 


66  Taffy  was  a  Welshman, 

Taffy  was  a  thief ; 
Taffy  came  to  my  house 

And  stole  a  piece  of  beef : 
I  went  to  Taffy's  house, 

Taffy  was  n't  at  home  ; 
Taffy  came  to  my  house 

And  stole  a  marrow  bone  : 
I  went  to  Taffy's  house, 

Taffy  was  in  bed  ; 
I  took  the  marrow  bone, 

And  beat  about  his  head." 

Old  Time  came  unto  my  house  of  clay, 

And  pilfered  its  pride  of  flesh  away  : 

148 


TAFFY.  149 

I  knocked  at  the  doors  of  the  years  in  vain 
To  ask  for  its  goodliness  again. 

Old  Time  came  unto  me  yet  once  more, 
For  crueller  theft  than  he  thieved  before ; 
Stealing  the  very  marrow  and  bone 
That  the  strength  of  my  life  was  builded  on. 

Old  Time  !    At  last  thou  shalt  lie  in  thy  bed, 
And   thy   years   and    days   be    buried    and 

dead  ; 
And  the  strength  of  the  life  to  come  shall 

be 
In  the  great  revenge  I  will  have  of  thee  ! 


MARGERY  DAW. 


"  See,  saw !  Margery  Daw- 
Sold  her  bed,  and  lay  upon  straw  ; 
Sold  her  straw,  and  lay  upon  dirt ; 
Was  n't  she  a  good-for-n aught  ?  " 

0  Margery  Daw  !  Mistress  Margery  Daw ! 
Not  yours  the  sole  lapse  that  the  world  ever 

saw ! 
In  precisely  such  willful  gradation 

1  fear  me  religion  and  morals  and  law 

Go  down,  step  by  step,  to  the  dirt  through 
the  straw, 
In  the  church  and  the  mart  and  the  na- 
tion. 

150 


MARGERY    DAW.  151 

A  yielding  of  that,  and  a  dropping  of  this, — 
("  With  straw  fresh  and  plenty,  pray  what 

is  amiss  ? 
The  bed  may  be  wider  and  cleaner  ;  "  ) 
Ah,  that 's  as  you  make  it,  and  shake  it, 

you  '11  find ; 
And   with   slumber    forgetful,    and   luxury 

blind, 
What   you   rest    in   grows    meaner   and 

meaner. 

"  In  righteousness  walking,"  the  Scripture 

verse  goes, — 
"  They  rest  in  their  beds,"  and  find  blessed 
repose  ; 
And  the  beautiful  contrary  diction 
Is  neither  Isaiah's  mistake,  nor  a  word 
At  random  declared,  to  be  scofimgly  heard, 
But  a  truth  in  the  freedom  of  fiction. 


152  MARGERY    DAW. 

0  Margery  Daw  !  Mistress  Margery  Daw  ! 
It  shall  always  be  gospel,  what  always  was 

law  : 
Some    bed-making    none    may   dispense 

with,  — 
In  dust   of  the  earth,   or  in  heart  of  the 

heaven,  — 
And  to  soul  of  mankind  shall  no  Sabbath  be 

given 
Save  that  it  lies  down  and  contents  with. 


TEOUBLED    WITH    RATS 


"  Pretty  John  Watts, 
We  are  troubled  with  rats  ; 

Will  you  drive  them  out  of  the  house  ? 
There  are  mice,  too,  in  plenty, 
Who  feast  in  the  pantry  ; 
But  let  them  stay, 
And  nibble  away ; 

What  harm  in  a  little  brown  mouse  ?  " 

A  cukiotjs  puzzle  haunts 

The  brain  of  the  commentator, 

Whether  John  Watts,  perchance, 

Be  preacher  or  legislator. 
153 


154  TEOUBLED    WITH    RATS. 

We  're  troubled  with  rats,  we  cry : 
And  who  shall  drive  out  the  vermin  ? 

Let  senate  and  pulpit  try  : 

Urge  edict,  and  scourge  with  sermon. 

They  steal,  they  riot,  they  slay  : 
They  are  noisy,  they  are  noisome : 

Mice  in  thepantry,  you  say  ? 

Ah,  those  little  things  are  toysome ! 

They  only  nibble,  you  see ; 

They  only  frolic  and  scamper  : 
What  harm  can  it  possibly  be 

A  little  brown  mouse  to  pamper  ? 

They  're  not  of  the  race,  John  Watts ! 
From  them  we  need  no  protection ; 


TKOUBLED    WITH   EATS.  155 

They  will  never  develop  to  rats, 
By  survival  or  selection. 

And  yet,  John  Watts !  John  Watts ! 

Whether  in  closet  or  highway, 
I  doubt  me  that  mice  and  rats 

Are  akin,  in  some  sort  of  sly  way  ; 

And  as  long  as  the  world  sins  on, 
That  the  odds  will  be  but  a  quibble 

Between  the  deeds  that  are  done 
By  brutes  that  devour  —  or  nibble  ! 


LITTLE    ROBIN    REDBREAST. 


"  Little  Robin  Redbreast  sat  upon  a  tree  ; 
Up  went  the  pussy-cat,  down  came  he  : 
Down  came  the  pussy-cat,  away  Robin  ran ; 
Says  little  Robin  Redbreast,  catch  me  if  you  can ! 

Little  Robin  Redbreast  hopped  upon  a  spade ; 
Pussy-cat  jumped  after  him,  and  then  he  was  afraid ; 
Little  Robin  chirped  and  sung,  and  what  did  pussy  say  ? 
Pussy  said,  Me-ow  !  Me-ow  !  and  Robin  flew  away." 

Little  Robin  Redbreast  sat  upon  a  tree, 

Heartsome  and  glad ; 
The  cheer  of  life,  in  the  green  of  life,  what- 
ever so  blithe  may  be  ? 

Fol  de  rol,  de  rol,  lad  ! 
156 


LITTLE    ROBIN    REDBREAST.  157 

Up   went   the   pussy-cat,    and   down   came 
he,  — 
Woe  befall  for  the  claws,  lad  ! 
The   care  of   life,  and   the  fear  of  life,  it 
creepeth  so  stealthily,  — 
So  threatsome  and  sad  ! 
And  woe  befall  for  the  claws,  lad  ! 

Down    came    the    pussy-cat,   away   Eobin 
ran, 

In  his  scarlet  clad  ; 
There  may  be  a  day  for  running   away,  for 
redcoated  bird  or  man. 
Fol  de  rol,  de  rol,  lad  ! 
Says  little  Eobin  Redbreast,  Catch   me  if 
you  can  ! 
Two  merry  legs  to  the  four,  lad ! 


158  LITTLE   KOBIN   KEDBKEAST. 

A  quick,  bold  pair,  that  scampers  fair,  is 
part  of  the  saving  plan, 
And  a  match  for  the  pad 
Aprowl  on  the  pitiless  four,  lad  ! 

l 

Little   Robin    Redbreast    hopped     upon    a 

spade ; 

This  is  n't  so  bad  ! 
All  of  leafy  green,  and  for  joy,  I  ween,  the 
world  was  never  made. 
Fol  de  rol,  de  rol,  lad  ! 
Pussy-cat  jumped  after  him,  and    then  he 
was  afraid  ; 
Ah,  what  's  the  use  of  all,  lad  ? 
There  's  death  in  our  work,  there  's  fear  to 
lurk  in  the  places  where  we  played. 
What  help  's  to  be  had  ? 
And  what  is  the  use  of  all,  lad  ? 


LITTLE    ROBIN   REDBREAST.  159 

Little  Kobin   chirped  and   sung,   the  same 
brave  roundelay ; 

There  's  room  to  be  glad ! 
There  's  always  a  light  behind  the  night ; 
there  's  never  a  will  but  a  way ; 
Fol  de  rol,  de  rol,  lad ! 
Little  Kobin  chirped  and  sung,  and  what  did 
pussy  say  ? 
Creeping,  and  stretching  the  claws,  lad  ? 
Pussy    said,   O-w !     P-shaw !     Me-ow !    for 
Eobin  was  off  and  away. 
There  's  wings  to  be  had  ! 
And  fol  de  rol  for  the  claws,  lad  ! 


WHEELBARROW   BROKE. 


"  When  I  was  a  bachelor,  I  lived  by  myself, 

And  all  the  bread  and  cheese  I  got  I  put  upon  a  shelf. 

The  rats  and  the  mice,  they  made  such  a  strife, 

I  was  forced  to  go  to  London  to  get  me  a  wife. 

|  The  streets  were  so  broad,  and  the  lanes  were  so  nar- 
row 
I  was  forced  to  bring  my  wife  home  in  a  wheelbarrow. 
The  wheelbarrow  broke,  and  my  wife  had  a  fall, 
Down  came  wheelbarrow,  wife,  and  all." 

Of  course  it  did.    Whatever  could  you  pos- 
sibly expect,  sir  ? 
You  chose  a  quite  peculiar  style  to  cherish 

and  protect,  sir ! 

160 


WHEELBARROW   BROKE.  161 

Your  resource  in  emergency  commands  my 

admiration, 
But  I  wonder  was  it  want  —  or  excess  —  of 

calculation, 
That  the  wheelbarrow  broke  ? 

The  one-wheeled  way  gave  out,  you  say? 
Indeed,  I  should  have  guessed  so, 

From  the  very  frank  preamble  of  your  pre- 
cious manifesto ! 

When  all  the  bread  and  cheese  you  got  you 
shut  up  in  your  closet, 

Driving    such    single-blessed    team,    what 
strange  amazement  was  it 
That  your  wheelbarrow  broke  ? 

You  were  managing  quite  finely  till  the  rats 
and  mice  got  at  it, 


162  WHEELBARROW    BROKE. 

And  forced  you  to  the  slow  resolve,  how- 

e'er  you  might  combat  it 
With  other  prompting,  that  a  wife  must  be 

your  choice  of  crosses 
In  a  world  of  moth  and  rust  and  thieves, 

and  all  provoking  losses  ? 
Yes,  —  the  wheelbarrow  broke. 

When  the  scramble  and  the  screed  began, 
you  fain  would  share  your  trouble, 

But  in  no  other  sense,  it  seems,  arrange  for 

going  double  ; 

The  generous  thoroughfares  of  life  were  too 

« 
wide  for  your  barrow, 

And  the  single    footpath   in  the  lane  you 

plodded  was  too  narrow 

For  a  couple  in  a  yoke. 


WHEELBARROW   BROKE.  163 

The  old  plan  was  a  careful  one ;  but  it  could 

never  carry 
New  needs  ;  you   should  have   thought  of 

that  before  you  thought  to  marry ; 
And    still  you   strove   to    push  it  through, 

with  many  a  frown  and  grumble, 
Till  the  poor  little  wife  and  all  had  got  a 

dreadful  tumble, 
When  the  wheelbarrow  broke. 

Broke  midway  in  the  struggle  :  a  providen- 
tial mystery : 

The  usual  meek  acoounting-for  of  such  mis- 
handled history : 

As  if  it  were  the  method  of  the  wisdom  and 
the  glory 

To  run  the  earth  on  one  wheel,  —  and  each 
small  earthly  story,  — 
Till  the  wheelbarrow  broke  ! 


164  WHEELBAEROW   BROKE. 

Ah,  friend  !  of  God's  mechanics  you  mistake 
the  grand  solution  ; 

On  no  weak,  single  centre  runs  the  perfect 
revolution  ; 

But  one  circuit  round  the  sun,  —  one  self- 
circling  for  the  planet,  — 

And  one  divine  consent  of  both,  —  so  first 
the  power  began  it, 
And  creation  was  bespoke. 

Be  sure  you  must  in  everything  waste  hope 

and  love  and  labor, 
Moving     cheaply     by    yourself,  —  nowise 

greatly  with  your  neighbor. 
(Jease,  then,  with  such   ill-balance   in    the 

ways  of  life  to  wraxle, 
And   put  an  equal-turning  wheel  on  each 

end  of  your  axle, 
Since  your  wheelbarrow  's  broke  ! 


THE   FOOTPATH   WAY. 


"  Jog  on,  jog  on,  the  footpath  way, 
And  merrily  jump  the  stile,  0  ! 

A  merry  heart  goes  all  the  day, 
Your  sad  one  tires  in  a  mile,  O ! " 

Who  goes  to-day  by  the  footpath  way, 
When  with  ocean   leagues   the  steamships 

And  under  mountains  and  over  plains 
Runs  the  level  thunder  of  the  trains  ? 

Who  goes  to-day  by  the  footpath  way, 

When  the  very  babies  despise  great  A, 

165 


166  THE   FOOTPATH   WAY. 

And  swallow,  with  supercilious  smiles, 
Whole  sentences,  like  young  crocodiles  ? 

Who  goes  to-day  by  the  footpath  way, 
Waiting  for  good  things  until  he  can  pay, 
When  with  mortgage  and  loan  and  instal- 
ment plan, 
Life  is  let  furnished  to  every  man  ? 

Who  goes  to-day  by  the  footpath  way, 
When   Moses    made   awful   mistakes,    they 

say, 
And  the  story  of  all  that  began  and  is 
Never  happened  according  to  Genesis  ? 

Who  goes  to-day  by  the  footpath  way, 
Alone    and   straitened,  with   care    and   de- 
lay, 


THE   FOOTPATH    WAY.  167 

When  the  world,  grown  wiser  by  grace  of 
God, 

Rolls  assured  toward  heaven  on  the  cause- 
way broad  ? 

When  things  are  thus  since  they  must  be  so, 
And  nobody  stands  by  himself,  you  know, 
And  none  may  jog  onward,  and  none  may 

fall 
But  by  force  that  prevails  in  the  general  ? 

And  what  are  the  odds  of  tear  or  smile, 
Or  whether  we  merrily  leap  the  stile 
Or  tumble  helpless,  since  over  we  must, 
And  the  end  of  all  is  the  "  dust  to  dust  ?  " 

Well,  —  take  it  so  ;  yet  the  footpath  way 
Doth  its  line  through   every  thoroughfare 


168  THE   FOOTPATH   WAY. 

The  tramp  of  the  legion  may  seem  to  efface, 
But  the  single  treading  hath  left  its  trace. 

You  may  rush  by  steam  with  a  seven-league 

stride, 
Yet    the   footpath   way 's   in   the    railroad 

ride; 
Each  goes  his  own  gait,  and  clears  his  own 

stiles, 
And  lives  by  inches,  while  driven  by  miles. 

You  may  scorn  your  penny,  and  spend  your 

pound, 
No  less  't  will  appear,  when  the  day  comes 

round, 
That   farthing   by  farthing  the   score  was 

made, 
And  unto  the  uttermost  shall  be  paid. 


THE  FOOTPATH  WAY.        169 

And   Moses   will   stand   when   philosophies 

drop, 
And   Huxley   and    Darwin    have   shut   up 

shop ; 
For  whatever  you  jump,  and  however  you 

j°g> 
You  can't  get  away  from  the  decalogue. 

Then  with  faith  and  fear  in  the  footpath 

way, 
And  with   steadfast   cheer,  trudge  on,  we 

say; 
For  if  ever  earth  into  the  kingdom  rolls, 
'T  will  be  by  the  saving  of  single  souls  ! 


UP  A   TREE. 


"  Oh  dear,  what  can  the  matter  be  ? 
Two  old  women  got  up  in  an  apple-tree  : 

One  came  down, 
And  the  other  stayed  up  till  Saturday." 

I  suppose  you  wonder  how  it  should  be 
That  two  old  ladies  got  up  in  a  tree  : 
Did  you  never  chance  the  exploit  to  see  ? 

Perhaps  you  have  noticed  pussy-cat  go, 

With   a   wrathful   look,    and   a   way   not 

slow, 

And    a   tail  very  big,  and    a   back   up  — 

so  ^V? 

170 


UP    A    TREE.  171 

Well,  that  is  the  type  of  the  thing  I  mean ; 
And    the    apple-bearer,    since    earth    was 

green, 
The  tree  of  our  trouble  hath  always  been. 

So  when  "  human  warious  "  fails  to  agree, 
There  stands  the  old  stem  of  iniquity, 
And  one  or  both  will  be  "  up  a  tree." 

Each   in   her  style  :  some  are   stately  and 

stiff; 
Some  hiss  and  spit,  and  are  up  in  a  whiff ; 
And  some  hunch  along  in  a  moody  miff. 

It  does  n't  much  matter,  however  it  be ; 
The  best  of  people  may  get  up  the  tree ; 
The  question  is,  when  they  '11  come  down, 
you  see ! 


172  UP   A   TREE. 

An  offenseless  one  will  descend  straightway ; 
One  half  in  the  wrong  for  a  while  may  stay ; 
Clear  curstness  will  roost  till  the  judgment 
day! 


THE  CROOKED   MAN. 


"  There  was  a  crooked  man, 
And  he  went  a  crooked  mile  ; 
He  found  a  crooked  sixpence 
Against  a  crooked  stile  : 
He  bought  a  crooked  cat, 
Which  caught  a  crooked  mouse  ; 
And  they  all  lived  together 
In  a  little  crooked  house." 

Once  begin  with  a  crook, 
You  '11  go  on  with  a  crook  ; 
Crooked  ways,  crooked  luck,  crooked  peo- 
ple. 

173 


174  THE    CEOOKED    MAN. 

Crooked  eyes,  crooked  mind, 
Crooked  guideposts  will  find ; 
Yes,  a  crook  in  the  very  church-steeple ! 

The  first  mile  you  make 

The  initial  will  take 
For  all  the  long  leagues  that  shall  follow : 

Right  and  left,  fork  and  swerve, 

Any  turn  that  will  serve, 
Up  and  down,  betwixt  hummock  and  hol- 
low. 

If  you  pause  at  a  stile 

Or  a  fence  for  a  while, 
Some  twist  must  compel  or  invite  you  : 

Even  sin,  I  've  a  doubt, 

Were  it  straight  out  and  out, 
Could  hardly  persuade  or  delight  you. 


THE    CKOOKED   MAN.  175 

And  a  shave,  or  a  bend, 
Or  a  nick,  must  commend, 

For  you,  every  quarter  and  nickel : 
Right  pure  from  the  mint, 
There  were  no  magic  in  't 

Your  trick -loving  finger  to  tickle. 

Crooked  money  will  buy 

But  a  crook  or  a  lie, 
Whatever  the  ware  that  you  deal  in  ; 

Your  position  in  life, 

Your  companions,  your  wife, 
Or  even  a  playfellow  feline. 

And  as  thief  catches  thief 
In  the  common  belief, 
Be  the  creature  a  cat  or  a  woman, 
The  crooked  shall  still 


176  THE    CROOKED    MAN. 

Find  the  crooked  at  will, 
And  you  '11  see  the  old  saw  sayeth  true,  man. 

In  kin,  neighbors,  house, 

In  a  servant  or  mouse, 
She  will  always  put  paw  on  her  likeness  : 

The  same  rule  runs  through, 

For  the  false  and  the  true,  — 
Straight  to  straight,  and  oblique  to  oblique- 
ness. 

So  together,  you  see, 

As  you  build,  you  shall  be, 
Every  line  of  the  mould  in  the  casting ; 

And  a  nice  little  world 

You  '11    have    made,   when   you  've 
curled 
And  squirmed  to  your  state  everlasting ! 


THE    FOUR   WINDS. 


"  When  the  wind  is  in  the  east, 
'T  is  neither  good  for  man  nor  beast ; 
When  the  wind  is  in  the  north, 
The  skillful  fisher  goes  not  forth  ; 
When  the  wind  is  in  the  south, 
It  blows  the  bait  in  the  fishes'  mouth  ; 
When  the  wind  is  in  the  west, 
Then  't  is  at  the  very  best." 

Life,  like  the  earth,  to  the  east  doth  run, 

Turning  her  face  to  the  face  of  the  sun. 

The  wind  that  is  contrary,  as  she  goes, 

Is  always  the  bitterest  wind  that  blows  ; 

Smiting  the  kiss  of  the  shining  away, 

And  beating  backward  the  beautiful  day. 

177 


178  THE   FOUR   WINDS. 

The  wind  that  comes  from  the  icy  pole 
Shutteth  up  hope  in  the  human  soul ; 
Chiding  the  heart,  and  forbidding  the  will, 
And  blasting  our  very  beginnings  with  ill. 
Oh,  the  wind  of  the  north,  on  its  terrible 

path, 
Is  the    wind   of    wreck,    and   despair,    and 

wrath  ! 

The  breath  that  blows  from  the  climes  of 

ease, 
From  the  isles  of  spice  and  the  bread-fruit 

trees, 
With  its  unearned  flavors  to  fill  the  mouth ; 
The  zephyr  that  sends  from  the  idle  south 
Its  soft  beguiling  and  treacherous  touch,  — 
Let   the    soul    in  her  struggle  be    shy  of 

such  ! 


THE    FOUK   WINDS.  179 

But  the  wind  that  springs  from  the  hind- 
ward  side. 
And  as  earth  rolls   under  sweeps  over  the 

tide  ; 
The  gust  that  is  vigorous,  brave,  and  true, 
Backing  you  up  in  whatever  you  do, 
Keen  and  impelling,  the  wind  of  the  west,  — 
Ah,  well  saith  the  legend,  that  breeze  is  the 
best. 


THE    PIPER   AND    THE    COW. 


"  There  was  a  piper  had  a  cow, 

And  he  had  naught  to  give  her : 
So  he  took  up  his  pipes,  and  he  played  her  a  tune, 
Consider,  cow,  —  consider  ! 

The  cow  considered  very  well, 

And  gave  the  piper  a  penny  ; 
And  bade  him  play  the  other  tune,  — 

Corn-rigs  are  bonny." 

Good  folks  of  the  pen,  I  am  sure  you  '11 

agree 
That  author  and  publisher  here  we  may  see  : 
The  Piper  plays  tunes  'twixt  the  world  and 

the  Cow, 

180 


THE    PIPER   AND    THE    COW.  181 

And  he  has,  at  the  same  time,  the  care  of 
the  mow  : 

When  the  crop  in  the  barn  shows  but  little 
to  feed  her, 

To  the  Cow  quoth  the  Piper,  Consider,  con- 
sider ! 

The  Cow  is  a  creature  that  cheweth  the  cud; 

Kecalleth  the  hill-sides,  with  daisies  be- 
stud, 

The  sweet  running  waters,  the  breezes  at 
play, 

While  mournfully  munching  the  last  lock  of 
hay: 

All  the  world  that  she  knoweth  of  fra- 
grance and  stir 

Sealeth  up  in  those  dry  stems  its  juices  for 
her. 


182  THE    PIPER   AND   THE    COW. 

So  it  cometh,  forsooth,  that  because  she  can 

chew 
People  think  it  is  all  she  can  hunger  to  do : 
Neither  Public  nor  Piper  doth  fully  allow 
For  the  interdependence   of   mood  and  of 

mow, 
Or  see  how  perplexing  it  may  be,  alas, 
For  a  Cow  to   consider  between   hay   and 

grass ! 

Howbeit,  if  Mooly  considereth  well, 

And  giveth  the  Piper  good  milk  for  to  sell, 

The   Piper    he    maketh    his   own    modest 

penny,  — 
Just  one    at  a  time,  till  he   hath  a  great 

many; 
And  during  the  while  this  is  coming  to  pass 
Fresh   fodder    grows   plenty,    and   delicate 

grass. 


THE    PIPEK   AND    THE    COW.  183 

Once  more  life  's  a  pasture  ;  the  season  is 
June  ; 

The  pipes  play  up  cheerly  the  bonny-rig 
tune  ; 

The  Cow  is  in  clover  ;  the  buttercups  hold 

Right  up  to  her  chin  their  probation  of 
gold; 

But  she  knows,  all  the  same,  how  't  will  be 
when  they  bid  her 

The  next  year,  as  last  year,  Consider,  con- 
sider ! 


BEHIND   THE   LOG. 


"  Pussy  sits  behind  the  log  ;  how  can  she  be  fair  ? 
Then  comes  in  the  little  dog  :    Pussy,  are  you  there  ? 
So,  so,  dear  mistress  pussy,  pray  tell  me  how  you  do ! 
I  thank  you,  little  dog,  I  am  very  well  just  now." 

Behind  the  log,  in  the  reek  and  mould, 
How  many  poor  things  are  there, 

Who  else  might  be  sought,  and   caressed, 
and  told, 
So  tenderly,  they  were  fair  ! 

Behind  the  log,  ah,  behind  the  log, 

Such  only  can  tell  us  how 
They  are  glad  of  a  word  from  a  little  dog 

Who  pauses  to  say  Bow-wow  ! 

184 


SHOE  AND  FIDDLE. 


"  Cock-a-doodle-doo ! 
My  dame  has  lost  her  shoe ; 
My  master 's  lost  his  fiddlestick, 
And  does  n't  know  what  to  do." 

Who  's  crowing,  I  wonder,  to  spread  such 

a  scandal 
Of    the     blithe-tripping    dame    who    hath 

dropped  off  her  sandal, 
And    seemeth    all    sad    and    forlornly    to 

shirk, 

Where  she  used,  in  good  humor,  to  dance 

at  her  work  ? 

185 


186  SHOE   AND    FIDDLE. 

Perhaps    honest    chanticleer   simply   may 

glory 
In  faithfully  giving  both  sides  of  the  story  ; 
And  scorning  the  loss  of  the  lady  to  tell 
Without  owning  the  miss  of  the  master  as 

well. 

For  how,  when  the  fiddlestick  's  gone,  can 

be  played 
The  music,  without  which  the  dancing  is 

stayed  ? 
When   the   man  's   out  of   tune,   the   dear 

woman,  't  is  plain, 
Must  wait  till  he  graciously  strikes  up  again. 

Let  him  hunt  for  his  bow,  then,  and  rosin  it 

too, 
(If  really  he  'd  like  to  be  told  what  to  do ;) 


SHOE   AND   FIDDLE.  187 

And  I  think,  with  the  fiddling,  't  will  surely 
be  found 

All  else  will  come  right  for  the  merry-go- 
round  ! 


SWING,    SWONG 


"  Swing,  Swong ! 
The  days  are  long  ! 
Up  hill,  and  down  dale  ; 
Butter  is  made  in  every  vale." 

Your  day  will  come,  though  it  arrive  but 

slowly ; 
There  's  cream  in    all    life,   set  however 

lowly ; 
And   if,  as   Goose   philosophy,   you   doubt 

it, 
Hear  what  the  little  hen  found  out  about 

it:  — 

188 


189 

"  Kroo  !  kroo  !     I  've  cramp  in  my  legs, 
Sitting  so  long  atop  of  my  eggs ; 
Never  a  minute  for  rest  to  snatch ; 
I  wonder  when  they  are  going  to  hatch  ! 

"  Cluck !  cluck  !  listen  !  tseep  ! 

Down  in  the  nest   there  's   a  stir  and  a 

peep. 
Everything  comes  to  its  luck  some  day ; 
I  've  got  chickens !  What  will  folks  say  ?  " 


SHUTTLECOCK. 


"  Here  we  go  up,  up,  up, 
And  here  we  go  down,  down,  downy  ; 
Here  we  go  backward  and  forward, 
And  here  we  go  round,  round,  roundy." 

Battledore  and  shuttlecock ! 

Hither,  and  thither,  and  yon : 
Never  a  flight  without  a  knock, 

And  so  the  world  goes  on. 

Shuttlecock  and  battledore  ! 

When  will  it  all  be  done, — 

The  life  of  the  buffet  and  beat  be  o'er, 

And  the  life  of  the  wings  begun  ? 

190 


THE  MAN  IN  THE  WILDERNESS. 


"  The  man  in  the  wilderness,  he  asked  me 
How  many  strawberries  grew  in  the  sea : 
I  answered  him,  as  I  thought  good, 
As  many  red  herrings  as  grew  in  the  wood." 

Of  the  face  of  the  world  they  have  found 
it  out 
By  what  they  must  fetch  and  do  ; 
Of  the  heart  of  the  world  they  dispute  and 
doubt, 
And  yet  it  is  just  as  true. 

Your  fish  is  wholesome,  and  live,  and  clean, 

And  my  little  fruit  is  fair  ; 

191 


192        THE   MAN   IN   THE   WILDERNESS. 

Though  the  earth's  good  Maker  might  never 
mean 
That  both  should  be  everywhere. 

And  all  for  the  want  of  a  thought  like  this, 

It  comes,  and  it  can  but  be, 
That  many  a  soul  's  in  the  wilderness, 

And  many  adrift  at  sea. 


PEAE   AND    POST. 


"The  man  in  the  moon 

Came  down  too  soon 
To  inquire  the  way  to  Norwich ; 

The  man  in  the  south, 

He  burnt  his  mouth 
With  eating  cold  plum  porridge." 

The  moony  men  are  always  in  a  hurry 
That  puts  sedater  people  in  a  flurry  ; 
They  get  their  theories  through  other  media 
Than  facts  of  gazetteer  or  cyclopaedia  ; 
And  then,  by  some  unknown,  preposterous 

gateway, 
Rush  forth  to  claim  the  realizing  straight- 
way. 

193 


194  PKAE   AND    POST. 

Just  think  of  lighting  on  a  foreign  planet, 
Asking  for  Norwich  before  folks  began  it ! 

But  then,  those  sleepy  souls  at  the  equator 
Lose  just   as   much,  you   see,  by  starting 

later ; 
Never  strike  in  while  anything  is  hot,  — 
Wait   till   the    porridge   is   all   out   o'    the 

pot;  — 
And  through  their  indolence  and  easy  fool- 
ing 
Burn  their  mouths,  figuratively,  in  the  cool- 


Too  soon,  too  slow,  there  's  nothing  comes 

out  even ; 
The   very   sun   that    travels    through    the 

heaven 


PRAE   AND   POST.  195 

Heels  o'er  the  line,  now  this  way  and  now 

that, 
And  only  twice  a  year  can  hit  it  pat. 
Even  your  two  eyes  make  a  parallax, 
And   might  mislead  you   on  two  different 

tracks ; 
Between  them  both,  the  moral,  I  suppose, 
Is  that   each  man   should   follow   his  own 

nose  ! 


QUITE   CONTRARY. 


"  Mistress  Mary,  quite  contrary, 

How  does  your  garden  grow  ? 
With  silver  bells,  and  cockle  shells, 
And  tulips,  all  of  a  row." 

Pkithee,  tell  me,  Mistress  Mary, 

Whence  this  rhyme  of  "  quite  contrary  "  ? 

Why  should  Mother  Goose,  beholding 

All  these  pleasant  blooms  unfolding,  — 

Every  prim  and  pretty  border 

Standing  in  such  shining  order,  — 

Looking  o'er  the  lovely  rows, 

Ask  you  "  how  your  garden  grows  "  ? 

196 


QUITE    CONTRARY.  197 

Mary,  so  precise  and  chary, 
Are  you,  anyhow,  contrary  ? 
While  these  sweetly  perfect  lines 
Nod  their  gentle  countersigns, 
Spending  all  your  strength  on  this, 
Lest  the  least  thing  grow  amiss, 
Weareth  some  unseen  parterre 
Quite  a  different  kind  of  air  ? 

Through  your  hating  of  a  weed 
Kuns  there  any  ill  to  seed,  — 
Thistle-blow  of  petulance, 
Bitter  blade  of  blame,  perchance, 
Or  a  flaunting  stem  of  pride, 
In  that  other  garden-side  ? 
Mary,  in  our  women-hearts 
Spring  such  curious  counterparts  ! 


198  QUITE    CONTRARY. 

Each  her  home-plot  watching  wary, 
Lest  the  faultless  order  vary 
By  the  dropping  of  a  leaf, 
Or  a  blossom  come  to  grief 
From  the  blasting  of  the  storm, 
Or  the  eating  of  a  worm, 
Let  us  both  be  certain,  Mary, 
Nothing  dearer  goes  contrary  ! 


ALONG,    LONG,    LONG. 


"  As  I  was  going  along,  long,  long, 
A  singing  a  comical  song,  song,  song, 
The  lane  that  I  went  was  so  long,  long,  long, 
And  the  song  that  I  sung  was  so  long,  long,  long, 
And  so  I  went  singing  along." 

It  's  all  along,  and  along  ! 
For  the  earth  is  bonny,  and  glad,  and  wide, 
And  we  're  free  to  wander,  and  free  to  bide, 

And  we  travel  with  a  song. 

It  's  long,  it  's  wearily  long  ! 
For  the  path  is  narrowed  to  only  a  lane  ; 
And  we  've  sung  it  over  and  over  again, 

That  old,  monotonous  son^. 

199 


200        ALONG,  LONG,  LONG. 

Nay,  let  us  be  thankful  and  strong, 
That  the  breath  of  life  is  as  long  as  the  clay, 
And  the  song  is  as  long  as  the  weariful  way, 

And  so,  we  '11  go  singing  along  ! 


FINIS 


{MOTHER  GOOSE,  INTERLINEATED.) 

"  The  white  dove  sat  on  the  castle  wall, 
I  bent  my  bow,  and  shoot  her  I  shall/'  — 

(The  fair  bird,  truth,  and  her  meanings  ;) 
"  I  put  her  in  my  glove,  both  feathers  and 

all;" 
(The  pretty  plumes  that  her  flight  let  fall ; 

For  I  bound  in  a  book  my  gleanings  :) 
"  I  laid  my  bridle  upon  the  shelf,  — ■ 
If  you  want  any  more,  you  may  sing   it 

yourself ! " 

(It 's  all  in  the  wits  and  the  weenings  !) 

201 


CONCLUSION 


(EDITORIAL.) 

Doubtless  I  might  go  on  to  quote, 
With  added  paraphrase  and  note, 
Precept  on  precept,  line  on  line, 
To  instance  here  the  fact  divine 
That  of  her  children,  far  and  wide, 
Wisdom  is  always  justified. 
Yet  why  oppress  with  proof  of  that, 
Since  "  verbum  sapienti  sat  "  ? 
Suffice  it  to  have  struck  the  vein, 

And  shown  some  specimens  of  ore ; 
If  any  seek  for  further  gain, 

The  mine  still  holds  abundance  more, 
A  mental  pickaxe  and  a  biggin 

Are  all  you  need  to  go  to  diggin\ 

202 


conclusion.  203 

For,  as  the  Swedish  seer  contends, 
All  things  comprise  an  inner  sense ; 
There's  nothing  we  can  write  or  say, 
In  howsoever  simple  way, 
But  seems  a  body,  built  to  hide 
The  soul  that  straightway  is  supplied; 
And  many  a  fool,  and  prophet  too, 
Hath  spoken  wiser  than  he  knew. 

One  parting  word,  and  I  am  gone : 
If  I  've  prevailed  to  make  you  see 
These  things  as  they  appear  to  me, 

Then  have  I  proved  my  Goose  a  Swan; 

And  I,  small  fledgling  of  the  line, 
Yet  proud  to  bear  the  ancient  name, 

May,  for  this  ancestress  of  mine, 

Claim  place  upon  the  page  of  fame;  — 

That  not  a  bard  of  Saxon  tongue 

More  true  to  nature  ever  sung: 


204  CONCLUSION. 

More  surely  soothed,  more  deeply  taught, 
Or  passing  fact  more  keenly  caught; 
And  that  —  exalted  side  by  side 
With  him  of  Avon,  in  the  pride 
And  love  of  millions  —  we  should  lay 
The  tribute  at  her  feet  to-day 
That  owns  her,  in  this  latter  age, 
Goose,  truly,  —  but,  in  savor,  Sage! 


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